


Oh, it’s you

by violetwolfraven



Series: Newsies Reincarnation AU [1]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, High School AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Reincarnation AU, Slight angst and then a lot of angst later, They all die, background Blush, background belmerttons, background ikeshot, background javid, background jomike, background newsbians, background redfinch, background spromeo, but don’t worry they all come back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25171729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetwolfraven/pseuds/violetwolfraven
Summary: Race is well aware that his friend group is strange. For one thing, they’re the entirety of their school’s drama club. For another, there’s always a sense of deja vu when a friend joins the group. A kind of... “oh, it’s you. Welcome home. Why did you stay away so long?” It doesn’t at all feel like meeting someone for the first time.Then Race meets a boy in his 1st period class who gives him a feeling way stronger than just a vague sense of deja vu.
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: Newsies Reincarnation AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908253
Comments: 16
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race has odd friends and everyone knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know absolutely nothing about most of the Newsies’s pasts, so for now, we’re just saying, my universe, my rules. Don’t be butthurt about it.

“Racetrack Higgins, if you don’t get your ass down the stairs in the next 2 seconds, I am leaving without you!”

“No, you ain’t, Jackie!”

“Can you please get ready faster, Race?”

“Sorry, Crutchie! Can’t rush perfection!”

“We’re going to be late! Fuck you, Racer!”

“Fuck you, too, Romeo!”

“HEY!”

“Sorry, Medda!” the foster brothers chorused.

They all knew that Jack wouldn’t actually leave without all of them in the car, no matter how much he pretended he would. The oldest brother was much too compassionate for that.

Jack Kelly. Official big brother to 3, unofficial big brother to anyone who needed one. Mostly their friend group, though.

Said friend group was entire drama club, which, for some reason, was a pretty unpopular club, at least compared to the rest. Maybe it was because the NY World High drama club was a strange friendship, for many reasons.

They were a talented group. And since most of them had ADHD or another hyperactivity disorder, most of them only did okay in school. Jack called them, ‘pretty of face, dumb of ass.’ But as much as Race liked that description, they were all at least kind of life smart.

Which was why it was so strange that around middle school, they had collectively lost the ability to tell anybody when any of the now-sophomores had joined the group, or even how many of them there were.

Maybe it had something to do with whenever they added a new person to the group, it didn’t at all feel like meeting someone for the first time. It was more like...

_“Oh, it’s you. Welcome home. Why did you stay away so long?”_

It was deja vu. It was familiarity, like you were simply seeing your friend again after a long time apart, not being introduced for the first time.

It was Race trusting Jack the day he met him, when they were pretty little, after years of bad foster homes that should have made him trust no one, and both of them trusting Medda barely a week after she adopted them at age 11. From there, it was knowing it was okay to call their new brothers “Romeo” and “Crutchie.”

Hell, Race didn’t know where “Racetrack” had even come from. Jack had just called him that once and it had felt right.

Actually, most of them had nicknames. No one knew why, just that they all felt right.

Knowing they actually would be too late to meet up with their friends before school _on the first day_ if he took too long, Race picked out his outfit faster.

“Finally,” Jack said, rolling his eyes as Race came downstairs, “Let’s go.”

They all yelled goodbye to Medda and headed to school.

“So, care to explain why you was moving at a snail’s pace this morning?” Romeo asked as they got in the car.

“Nah.”

None of them usually slept much, honestly. Crutchie and Jack always woke up at the asscrack of dawn, Race and Romeo waking up only slightly later, even if none of them knew why.

And besides that... nightmares. It wasn’t exactly uncommon, for the 4 of them. Hell, their entire friend group had nightmares almost every night; even the ones that never had to deal with abuse or anything. They usually didn’t like to talk about said nightmares, but they all knew through vague mentions and sympathy that felt like the sympathizer knew from experience that they all fought demons in their sleep.

Last night, Race had seen a dream he had quite frequently. A dark room, cuts and bruises on almost every inch of his skin, crowded in a hard bed with 2 other boys. Sometimes, a man would come in, grab a boy, and start hitting him. Sometimes, it was Race.

Oftentimes, he saw Jack’s face, fear and desperation written in his movements, passing food or blankets through the window, promising Race he would have a home when he got out, giving advice on escape attempts, but too afraid to help directly.

Last night, Race had been alone. He’d begged for help, but the other boys left him alone.

The worst part about this type of dream was that it all felt so real. Just as real or even more real than the nightmares he had about his former foster parents.

That kind of dream wasn’t always bad, though, oddly. (The kind that felt more real than some of Race’s real memories.) Sometimes, it was a younger version of Sniper having a shooting contest with Finch using a couple of well-loved-looking slingshots. Sometimes it was teasing a skinnier Blink about the moony-eyed way he looked at Mush. Sometimes it was an adrenaline rush, holding a sign at some kind of protest, chanting loudly.

Sometimes it was Race kissing a boy in dark alleyways and on fire-escapes. A boy who’s face he could never remember, but he didn’t tell anybody about that. He didn’t even like thinking about it, himself. It was too frustrating.

Still, most of the time, it was bad, painful dreams. That dark, over-crowded room. Watching Romeo get punched in the face by a cop. Fear like ice in his veins as boys bigger than him advanced with threatening smirks.

Luckily, his brothers knew enough about bad dreams to not ask again.

And seeing their friends helped.

The few dozen kids, around 25 boys and maybe 4 girls, seemed to be having a cartwheeling competition across the lawn in front of school. Smalls was yelling at Mike, who was almost a foot taller, that she was at a disadvantage because of her height. Elmer was laughing with Buttons and Jojo about something.

God, Race loved his friends.

“Racer!”

Race’s best friend, Albert, greeted him by stealing his juice box.

“Hey, that’s my juice box!”

“You’ll get another!”

Henry ran up and slapped Race’s back, “Hey, Race, please tell Specs you could beat him across the lawn cartwheeling.”

“I probably couldn’t,” Race argued, “He’s got about a foot on me, Henry.”

“Thank you, Racer,” Specs said, grinning as he headed over to go greet Romeo, who happened to be his boyfriend.

That was another thing about this friend group. Nearly all of them were gay to some extent.

Also, the fact that everybody was friends with everybody meant that they could use each other’s partners to bother them.

“Ey, Finch!” Race called, “Your boy stole my juice box!”

Finch leaned casually against Albert’s shoulder, “That’s not very nice, Albie.”

“No, it ain’t.” Albert didn’t seem particularly bothered by that.

This was why Race liked him. Most of the others had okay blood families. Families who didn’t understand them, made them feel invalid or weird, but didn’t hurt them intentionally. They were all ‘chosen family’ kind of kids, but knowing that some of the others had been intentionally abused, some acted like they needed to be nice them, like, all the time.

Albert sassed Race like he was anyone else. It was great.

“Please?” Race asked, as a last ditch effort.

Albert drank the rest of the juice box, not breaking eye contact.

Finch sighed, “Sorry, Race. I tried.”

“No problem, Finch.”

It was a bit annoying how he was only 2 months older than Race and Albert (who, weirdly, shared a birthday) and yet was a head taller. It was probably part of the reason Albert found him attractive.

“I’ll be over talkin’ to Crutchie if you need me.”

“M’kay.”

Albert waited until Finch was out of earshot before speaking again. Race braced himself.

“You had a nightmare, didn’t you?”

Race shrugged, “What gave me away?”

“The look in your eyes... and I had one, too.”

Their nightmares often coincided, oddly.

“What was yours?”

Albert shrugged, “Got soaked. Everybody else was getting soaked, too. Couldn’t help Finch, watched someone hit Elmer with a club so hard I think they broke his hand... you know. The usual. You?”

Race figured he owed him the truth, “I was in that dark, crowded room. Jack wasn’t there this time. I was alone.”

Albert knew how often Race dreamed about that. He’d listened to him cry about it on the phone at 2 AM more than a couple times. He knew how bad it could be.

“You gonna be okay?”

Race shrugged. He really just wanted to be out of this conversation, to be honest.

He’d never been so grateful for the bell breaking up the group. He didn’t have a class with Albert until last period PE.

Finch was in his 1st period, and so was Elmer, but they wouldn’t ask him about shit unless Jack put them up to it. Being the oldest, older than Specs by 12 days, wasn’t even why he was the unspoken leader. But he knew to leave Race alone about this.

Well, hopefully.

...

There was a new kid in Race’s first period.

This was mainly weird because their school wasn’t exactly in a desirable neighborhood. New kids were rare.

And this new kid was shorter than Race, but judging by the way his hoodie sleeves stretched, was strong as hell.

He had his hood up, so Race couldn’t get a good look at him, but there was something familiar, anyway.

Of course, he chose that moment to look up, just in time to notice Race staring.

The new kid had brown eyes that Race could swear were looking right into his soul and seeing everything about him.

A pang of recognition went through him, stronger than it had been with any of his friends. Stronger than it had been with Albert, stronger than with Jack, stronger than with Crutchie or Romeo...

He knew this boy. From somewhere, even if he didn’t know where.

There was 5 minutes until class started, so Race headed to the front of the classroom, where he usually sat if he could. Elmer had already saved him a seat.

“Hey, you seen the new kid?”

Elmer looked over his shoulder, “Uh... yeah?”

“What do ya make of him?”

With a thoughtful look as he turned back frontward, Elmer tilted his head.

“Seems familiar. Like the other fellas. Like you. Think he’s one of us?”

Elmer and a few of the others had this ridiculous conspiracy theory that the fellas had known each other in a past life and that was why they got so close so fast. Race thought it was stupid, even if he did know that the bond their group had was special somehow.

He just grinned, “Give Finch my seat. I’m gonna go talk to him.”

“Whoa, you sure?”

Race stopped, “Why not?”

Elmer hesitated, his smile looking fake, “Race... yeah, he feels familiar. But... I dunno. Feels rough, too. Scary.”

Finch leaned forward from his current desk behind them, “Yeah, Race, I don’t feel like explainin’ to Albert why you got soaked. That guy has an air of danger.”

Race wasn’t getting any kind of air of danger.

“If you have to,” Elmer said, seeming to sense he wouldn’t be able to stop him if he tried, “Please be careful.”

“Noted,” he said, not planning to follow that advice. Race had found that the best way to get people to like him was to be himself.

Finch took Race’s seat and Race headed to the back of the classroom.

Race bounced up to the guy’s desk, “Hi. Racetrack Higgins. Wanna be friends?”

Seeing how the guy flinched, just a little, when Race stuck his hand out too fast, he quickly regretted his actions.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit._

Race withdrew his hand slowly, sitting down next to the guy.

“What’s your name?” he asked, being more careful this time, not raising his voice too loud. He was all too familiar with triggers.

“None of your business.”

The guy had a Brooklyn accent. Interesting. And now that Race was closer to him, he could see that he had brown hair under his hood.

“I’m gonna find out, anyway,” Race pointed out, “When the teacher takes attendance.”

The guy sighed, but he knew Race was right.

“Sean. Conlon,” a pause, “Did you just say your name was Racetrack?”

“Well, Race or Racer, usually, for short,” Race clarified, “It’s a nickname.”

This time, when Race extended his hand, slower, no sudden movements, his new desk partner did shake it.

Oh, damn. He was strong. His grip was firm enough for Race to tell, even if he wasn’t squeezing hard enough to hurt.

“Nice to meet ya, Spot.”

The guy glared at him, “I said Sean. Where did you get ‘Spot’ from that?”

Race shrugged, answering truthfully, “I dunno. Just felt right. And goin’ by instinct has gotten me this far in life, so...“

Spot rolled his eyes, but didn’t correct him again. The barely-perceptible confusion on his face held a bit of recognition, too. It looked like how Race had felt the first time Jack called him ‘Racetrack.’ It was...

_“Why do I know that? Why does it feel right for someone to call me that?”_

“So, where you from, Spot?” Race asked.

“Where you from?” Spot challenged.

Race shrugged, “No idea. Got put up for adoption when I was a kid. Don’t remember the first place, and never stayed in one place long enough after that to say I was from there. Wound up with my foster mom I was 11, and here I am.”

Spot raised an eyebrow, “That the truth?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Spot’s eyes were intense as he studied him, but it didn’t make him feel uncomfortable. He could sense Spot searching him for a lie, and Race knew he wouldn’t find one. Despite not knowing him, he trusted him not to use the whole ‘foster kid’ thing against him. It was like when he trusted Jack for the first time, except... well, different, somehow.

Race didn’t understand Elmer and Finch getting a ‘danger’ vibe from him.

“Brooklyn,” Spot said finally, “Not tellin’ ya what part.”

“Yeah,” Race said with a smile, “That’s okay. I mean, like recognizes like, right?”

“What?”

“Well, I moved around a lot, but foster parents ain’t all good. And I got 3 brothers who’s from similar situations. I know how to recognize someone in pain. You’s been hurt by somebody, right?”

Spot’s gaze hardened, and Race could see now why Elmer and Finch thought he was dangerous.

Still... he couldn’t find it in himself to be afraid. He didn’t believe that Spot would hurt him.

“No,” Spot said harshly. Race didn’t believe him, but this one was on him. He was stupid, bringing up so heavy a topic 2 minutes after meeting someone.

When class started, he tried not to feel hurt when his desk partner would barely look at him.

...

As it turned out, Race didn’t have any more classes with Spot until 6th period.

It totally wasn’t suspicious how he was still wearing long sleeves, despite the early September heat they were running around the track in.

Race still couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew Spot. He knew he did, and he hated the way he was also fairly certain he was in pain.

Unfortunately, Albert noticed something was wrong, as he always did.

Fortunately, Jack was occupied hitting on another new kid, some tall, skinny boy, so he didn’t notice. At least, he hadn’t yet.

Race couldn’t dodge when Albert asked him what was wrong.

“The new kid. What do you think of him?”

“Davey?” Albert laughed, half apologetic and half humorous, “You’re a little late, Racer. Jack’s already pretty gone over that poor boy.”

“No...” Race took a deep breath, “What did it feel like when you met Finch?”

Albert looked confused, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Forget it. If you don’t wanna—“

”No, Race, it’s okay. It’s...” Albert shrugged, “It was... like when I met you, and Jack, and all the others, only... turned up. It was familiar. I mean, I didn’t know I loved him, at the time, but when I figured it out, I realized I always had. From the first second I met him, I’d wanted to keep him close and make sure nobody could hurt him.”

“You love him?”

Albert seemed to realize he hadn’t used the L-word before and turned as red as his hair.

“ _Do not_ tell him, Racer.”

“Relax! I won’t!”

“You better not,” he relaxed a little, smiling softly, “But yeah. I... I do. I love him.”

“I know,” Race admitted, “I knew before ya even got together when I saw the way you looked at him. But, uh... maybe you should tell _him_ how you feel.”

“Yeah,” Albert muttered, “Maybe. Anyway, why are you asking about me and Finch?”

Race wasn’t done dodging his real thoughts yet, “You don’t buy Elmer’s theory, right? About all that reincarnation shit?”

Albert shrugged, “Not really. But I have to admit, somethin’s weird about our friends. The friendships, the love... it almost feels like fate.”

“Yeah... fate.”

He snuck a glance at Spot, who was glaring defensively at anyone who got too close to him.

Albert tracked his gaze, “Oh, I see.”

Race rolled his eyes, “It’s not like that. And... I don’t think I’d know if it was. But I fucked up this morning, Albie. I think I asked too much about his past.”

“Yeah, definitely looks like a kid who’s been hurt by somebody... but he also looks familiar. And... Jesus, Race, did you have to go for the one that gives off an overwhelmingly intense ‘I can and will kick your ass’ vibe?”

Race shrugged, “He won’t hurt me.”

”You sure?”

”Yeah.”

”How do ya know?”

”I just _know_. Same way I knew with Jack, only... turned up. Like you said.”

“Well, then,” Albert said mischievously, “You should invite him to the sleepover.”

“Invite an abused kid to a sleepover with a bunch of kids he’s never even met. Super smart, Albie. He’s sure to say yes to that.”

“Well, if you believe Elmer,” Albert reasoned, “He probably has met them. And besides, Sniper said yes. She’s a girl who’s been through some shit. She agreed to go to a sleepover with a bunch of boys because Smalls asked her. Ask. If he says no, I’ll sit on your couch and watch romcoms with you this weekend until your poor broken heart heals.”

Race saluted sarcastically as the timer went off, “You’s the best, Albie.”

“I know. Go ask.”

On his way over to go talk to Spot, Race nearly jumped out of his skin as someone not in his field of vision grabbed his arm suddenly.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. Race, it’s me. It’s okay.”

Race shook off the almost-panic attack and turned to face his brother, “I... I’m okay. What is it, Jack?”

Jack still looked concerned, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. What is it?”

Jack gestured to the guy next to him, “Race, this is Davey Jacobs. Davey, this is one of my little brothers, Racetrack Higgins.”

“Your name is Racetrack?” Davey asked skeptically.

“Well, Race,” Race clarified, “Or Racer, to most people. But unless your parents is really mean, I’m guessin’ your name ain’t actually Davey.”

“It’s David. Just... Jack called me ‘Davey’ and...“

“It felt right?” Race guessed, “Yeah, that’s common. Deja vu, right? Our friend group has a unique relationship with fate.”

“‘Unique relationship with fate’?”

“You really want to get into Elmer’s conspiracy theories this early?” Jack asked, “Can it wait until next week? Oh! That reminds me! Davey, every year, the whole theatre club brings our sleeping bags and we camp out on the stage after the first meeting of the school year. We’s been doing’ it since middle school. We play truth or dare, never have I ever, frogger... You should totally come!”

Davey looked wary, “There’s not gonna be...“

“Be what?”

“Drugs? Alcohol? You realize how shifty this sounds, right?”

Jack laughed. Race did, too, keeping one eye on where Spot was walking ahead of them towards the locker room.

“God, no,” Jack assured him, “Race and me, our mom would kick our asses if we did anythin’ like that. And even if we wanted to, where do you even get drugs? Or fake IDs to get alcohol? Actually... if I’m bein’ honest, Blink probably knows where. See, his dad was involved in some pretty shady shit. But he ain’t stupid enough to do it, himself.”

As Jack kept rambling, Race hid a smile. Albert was right. Jack was _so_ gone for this boy. He hadn’t seen him like this... well, ever.

“Hey, Jackie, do ya need me here?”

“What? Nah, you can go if you want to. You okay, Racer? Did I say somethin’?”

“Nah, you’re good. I’m fine. Just gotta go do something.”

“Okay. Just be by the car within twenty minutes of the bell or I’m leavin’ you behind.”

“We both knows you won’t, but I’ll be there.”

Davey still seemed confused as Race sped up to catch up to Spot.

“So... why do you call him Racetrack?”

“To be honest... I don’t even know.”

Race had to jog to catch up. God, Spot walked fast for someone so short. It still took until he was at his PE locker to get close enough to talk.

“Hey, Spot!”

Spot flinched, tried to hide it, and shot Race a glare. Race took that as a cue not to come any closer.

Oh, shit. He had no idea how to begin this conversation.

“Uh...” he cleared his throat, “Hi. It’s me. Race. From 1st period. You’re good at glaring.”

Spot looked confused. Race didn’t blame him. Of all the ways he could have put it, that was a super weird way. This was already off to a bad start.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, “That sounded really weird.”

“No shit,” Spot said.

“I’m a theatre kid.”

“Okay?”

“What I mean is, you’re expressive. You convey emotions pretty clearly. I think you’d be a good actor. You should join up. The first meeting is next Friday, and then we all sleep over on the stage that night. We play truth or dare, never have I ever, sing stuff, trade gossip—it’s fun. You should come. Don’t worry. My friends are nice.”

Race was starting to realize that he was just as awkward about crushes as Jack. How could something run in a family that wasn’t even related by blood?

Actually... hell. Race didn’t remember his parents. Jack only vaguely remembered his. They _could_ be blood brothers for all they knew.

But, anyway, it looked like he rambled. Which he hadn’t known because besides a few brief infatuations, Race had never had a crush before.

“So...” he said after a long silence, “What do ya think?”

“I think,” Spot gave him a cold look, “I don’t know you. Why would I trust you like that?”

“I...” Race tried to justify his thoughts, but came up empty, “You shouldn’t. I probably wouldn’t, in your position.”

“Exactly. Now beat it. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t even like you. And I wouldn’t talk to you ever again if we weren’t already assigned seats right next to each other in English. So, Race, get lost, or I _will_ make you.”

Race tried not to be hurt by the ice in his voice. He knew something had to have happened to make Spot that cold. People didn’t act that way for no reason. He tried to remember that getting hurt sometimes made you want to hurt other people.

And he had been a little pushy, as he sometimes accidentally was. Just because Race’s friends could handle him didn’t mean everyone could.

“Okay,” he said quietly, “I’ll leave you alone.”

If Race went home and sulked alone in his room until he had to let Romeo in for the night, that was nobody’s business but his own.

...

_“I didn’t think you’d come.”_

_The strike had just been settled, and Race hadn’t gotten a minute alone with Spot until now. Not since he’d gone over to Brooklyn just after Crutchie was taken._

_He’d come with the full intention of yelling, but all the anger had drained away when he actually saw Spot. Instead, he’d said what he’d thought was going to be goodbye. He hadn’t been sure they could win and knew that if he got thrown in the Refuge, it might just kill him. And even if it didn’t, Race would honestly rather die than go back there._

_It still didn’t feel real that he would never have to risk that again._

_“The second you Manhattan boys proved you wasn’t gonna fold, Brooklyn was comin’,” he said firmly, “And if I hadn’t decided yet, you sayin’ goodbye would have convinced me.”_

_“Well, we’d’a gotten our asses kicked even more than we did if ya hadn’t come, so...“_

_“I’m sorry we didn’t come before,” Spot muttered, “It broke my heart, seein’ you hurt.”_

_Race hadn’t expected that. He knew that Spot cared, at least a little, but he had never said it in a way that clearly meant, well... that this might be more than just a fling.  
_

_They’d been kissing in their spare time for a few months now, but it was always just stolen moments, rarely with much talk involved. Race had taken a while to figure out that he did want more than just ‘friends with benefits.’ After that, it had been safer to not ask for clarification. Not knowing for sure what Spot wanted meant that Race wouldn’t get hurt if it was just a fling to him._

_“Race,” Spot said, “I swear to you, as_ _long as I’m alive, I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe from now on. I don’t care about the risk anymore.”_

_“I do,” Race argued, “You’s the King of Brooklyn. If word got out ‘bout you and me—“_

_“It won’t,” he insisted, “Hotshot’s in a similar boat. He’ll cover for me. ‘Sides, I know for a fact that Cowboy’s been with boys before, and probably is now, and nobody’s caught him, yet.”_

_Race already knew about Jack and Davey, so he raised an eyebrow at the other statement, “Hotshot’s in a similar boat?”_

_“Ya know... in love with a ‘Hattan boy.”_

_“Seriously?! Who?”_

_“Not sure. All I know is he likes boys and thinks he’s subtle when he sneaks out.”_

_“I might have to find out who it is.”_

_”Shut up.”_

_Realization hit Race like a punch to the face, “Wait... did you just say that you were..?“_

_Spot leaned in a little closer. He always left time so Race could pull away if he wanted. He seemed to find it hard to believe that Race wanted to be with him,_ even just as a fling, k _nowing everything he’d done. What little real talking they had done in the last few months was usually Spot making sure Race knew exactly what kind of boy he was kissing._

_He told Race all the worst things he’d done. He told him about stealing money when things got too hard. He told him about having to punish traitors to maintain his rep. He told him his first kill, when he was 13, and every life he’d taken since then._

_Race couldn’t give less of a damn that Spot had killed. The last King of Brooklyn had been terrible and abusive to everyone. Scarf’s father was a monster, and the poor kid never would have gotten himself out. Race had almost wished he could kill that one gangster himself, for what he almost did to Bluebird. He’d ended up helping Spot comfort her instead of what he’d come over for, and it had made him angry as hell._

_Spot didn’t kill because he wanted to. He killed only in defense of himself and the people under his protection, and only if_ _necessary. Never other kids, except if they were so badly hurt or sick that they wouldn’t make it anyway, and putting them out of their misery was kindness. Other Brooklyn Kings hadn’t been so considerate._

_All this... was probably why he’d even lasted this long. Spot had been king over 2 years. In Brooklyn, kings came and went fast because they were cruel and corrupt. No one was loyal to them out of anything besides fear._

_Not Spot. His boys and girls were loyal to him because they wanted to be. Because he took care of them when he could and made sure they took care of themselves when he couldn’t. He didn’t take shit, but he didn’t give shit, either, unless he had to._

_This was why Race loved him. Why he’d loved him since before they even started anything, even if he hadn’t realized it._

_In his own way, Spot had been letting him know that he felt the same for weeks, but there was something special about hearing it out loud._

_“I love you, too,” Race whispered, kissing him firm enough that he hoped Spot could get the message that he meant it._

_They stayed together in that alleyway until a very surprised Mush and Blink came and found them, seeming surprised to find someone in their usual place._

...

Race startled awake, his face burning.

The guy he’d been dreaming about having a secret relationship with was Spot fucking Conlon, who Race was pretty sure currently hated him.

He wasn’t sure how it was possible, but it had always been Spot in the dreams. The red shirt, the brown eyes, the way he could snap Race like a twig if he wanted to but never would...

It was just that Race knew him in real life now, so could hold on to memory of his face when he woke up. Shit.

The first dream of him as anything more than a friend had been when Race was 15.

He and Spot had been fighting, all up in each other’s faces. It was about something stupid. There was a lot of shoving involved, not quite swinging fists yet, and then Spot had pinned Race against the wall, yelling in his face.

Dream-Race didn’t know why he grabbed the other boy’s hair, kissing instead of punching him, but he did. And when Spot kissed him back, it was like a new form of fighting, only they weren’t trying to hurt each other anymore.

It hadn’t happened again for a while, but when it did, their second kiss had been gentler.

They were on good terms again, somehow, and were sitting on a dock after dark, watching the water, with Race talking about random shit to fill the silence, because the boy beside him, who was shorter than him and couldn’t be much older but acted like he was, was _so_ silent.

Spot had turned to tell him to shut up, and Race had said, ‘make me,’ fully joking.

He’d been surprised when Spot kissed him, but certainly hadn’t been complaining. This kiss was soft and sweet and slow, all about making each other feel good. It wasn’t a fight this time, and it made Race lightheaded in a way that had carried into the waking world. He’d had to make up an excuse for why he was smiling so much the next morning.

After that, for lack of a better term, they’d been friends with benefits for a while, until Race actually started catching feelings beyond the physical.

In the dreams, there was always fear involved for some reason, like something bad would happen if anyone saw, but that only made it more thrilling.

Aaaaaand these were thoughts for when Race wasn’t still halfway in dream world. He knew he wouldn’t remember all he did now later, but he was so tired. He could never remember all the details of the dream world, anyway. Mostly vague ideas of what happened. It might be stupid, but Race decided to go back to sleep and deal with this in the morning.

”Race?” Romeo mumbled sleepily from the other bed, “You okay?”

Damn, he was a light sleeper. For a good reason, but it was still kind of annoying when Race was trying _not_ to wake his little brother up.

”Yeah, go back to sleep, Ro.”

”M’kay. ‘Night.”

He was snoring again within 5 seconds.

Despite telling Romeo _and_ himself that they should go back to sleep, Race didn’t for the rest of the night.

...

The next morning, Romeo didn’t seem to remember that Race had woken up at all, and if he did, he had the decency not to tell Jack or Crutchie.

Not that Romeo knew what the dream was about, but if he told anyone, they’d ask, and Race really wasn’t a very good liar, so he hoped Ro didn’t remember waking up.

Mainly because if they found out that Race even had a crush, let alone that he’d been dreaming about kissing some boy for months, especially considering said boy had said mildly hurtful things to Race, they would go into ‘overprotective big brother’ mode.

It was kind of stupid. Their age difference wasn’t even significant. Jack was 4 months older than Crutchie, who was a month older than Race, and Romeo was the youngest by only 20 days. Still, the older two had given Specs a hell of a shovel talk.

Jack was kind and compassionate, and Crutchie prefered to treat others how he wanted to be treated, but that did not mean they wouldn’t maim someone who hurt one of the people they loved.

So... yeah. They could never find out about Spot. Not that there was anything real to find out about, but still.

”So, how’d it go?” Albert asked as Race headed over to the group.

”How’d what go?” Specs asked.

After looking around to confirm none of his brothers were anywhere nearby, Race answered, “I might’a asked a guy to come to the sleepover next week.”

”And how’d it go?” Albert pressed.

Race told the truth, “It didn’t. I’m fairly certain I freaked him out. He probably hates me.”

”Race,” Specs said gently, “You can be a little annoying and extremely awkward, but I don’t think it’s physically possible for anyone to _hate_ you.”

Albert shrugged, “Unless they’s homophobic.”

“Unless they’s homophobic,” Specs agreed reluctantly, “But I doubts a homophobe could last long in this school, so if this guy is, he ain’t gonna stay.”

”Stay in the school, or stay a homophobe?” Albert asked.

Specs shrugged, “Yes. Ya know. Take your pick.”

They both laughed, but Race didn’t. What if Spot really _was_ homophobic?

“So, who was it?” Specs asked.

When Race didn’t answer immediately, Albert answered for him.

”That scary Conlon kid.”

“Shit, seriously?”

”Throw me in front of the bus, why don’t ya?” Race muttered, “I can’t even blame him. He’s got all the tells of an abused kid—I shouldn’t expect him to trust me that quick. It still kind of hurts, though.”

”Wait, do you have a crush on him?” Specs asked incredulously.

Race didn’t deny it. He knew he wore his heart on his sleeve. If he didn’t outright admit it to the fellas, they’d figure it out, anyway, eventually.

”Please don’t tell anyone. Even Romeo.”

”Sure,” Specs still looked confused, “I mean, he’s attractive, I guess, but he almost stabbed Jojo with a pencil in science yesterday.”

”Why?”

”He handed him a worksheet too quick. I think you’re right about the whole abuse thing.”

”So, what should I do?” Race asked.

”About a crush on a kid who damn near stabbed Jojo and glares at anyone who so much as looks at him?” Specs asked, “You should ignore that. Ignorin’ it seems like the safest option.”

Albert gave Race a look when he didn’t try to argue and asked a question he had already answered, himself.

”Specs, how did it feel when you met Ro?”

Specs shrugged, glancing over at where Romeo was hanging out with Jack.

”It was like... when he first got here, he didn’t smile much, right? But I saw his face and could already picture it. I just instinctually wanted to make him happy. I’d seen that smile before, somehow. Just passin’ by on the street, maybe in a dream... I dunno. Just knew I wanted to see him happy again and keep him happy as long as I could. Why are you... oh my god, you think the scary Conlon boy is your person?”

”My what now?”

”You have noticed we’s all been pairin’ off since 8th grade, right?” Albert asked.

”You and Jack are kinda the only ones who even want a partner who haven’t got one yet,” Specs admitted.

Albert grinned, “Oh, no, Jack’s fallin’ for Davey Jacobs pretty hard. It’s _just_ Race.”

”Well, the new kid does seem pretty familiar, but... he also seems dangerous.“

”Spot wouldn’t hurt me.”

Race still didn’t know how he was so sure.

Albert smirked, “Well, if you’re wrong, I’ll be sure to cry at your funeral.”

...

Race decided not to try to make Spot talk to him in class. Things had been bad enough yesterday, and combined with the dream Race had last night...

God, he was having trouble even looking at him without thinking about that. It was just too awkward.

Albert had apparently talked to Finch, because he kept shooting shit-eating grins back at him, reading the awkwardness between Race and his desk partner easily.

Elmer usually stayed out of other people’s business, but even he would probably notice something soon, especially with how Finch was acting. And when he did, he would tell Buttons, if no one else, and Buttons might tell Mike and Ike, and so gossip would spread like it always did.

He had maybe a few days before _everyone_ knew. Great. Might as well give them something to talk about, no matter how awkward it might be. He wasn’t going to push Spot to talk if he didn’t want to, but he was going to fill the silence, anyway.

“I wanna apologize,” he said suddenly, as soon as he finished the class work for the day.

Spot jumped, still not looking at Race.

”I was pushy and insensitive yesterday,” Race added, “I, of all people, should know not to do that. I’m sorry. Even if ya don’t wanna join theatre, I’d still like to be friends.”

Spot scoffed, “I wouldn’t.”

“That’s fine, too,” Race said quickly, “Sorry for... everything, I guess. But mostly whatever specific thing made you hate me.”

Spot didn’t respond.

”You’d probably like my second-oldest big brother more than me,” Race thought aloud, “Crutchie’s pretty special. He’s super compassionate and real careful about triggers and such. But he’s also kinda overprotective. He punched a guy hard enough to break his nose once. The guy deserved it, though. He said a slur at Romeo—my little brother. Basically, Crutchie’s the kind who’ll be super nice to everyone until they don’t deserve it, then he can kick their ass. He’s a good brother.”

Spot still didn’t respond, but he didn’t tell Race to shut up, either.

So, Race told him about Jack, Crutchie, and Romeo. About Albert, Finch, and Elmer, and all the others. He talked about Sniper destroying everyone in dodgeball, Jojo rapping Guns and Ships perfectly, and Henry letting Race talk him into tap dancing lessons. It didn’t matter that he stayed silent. Race certainly knew how to talk enough for both of them.

”You have a lot of friends,” Spot noted, when Race paused for longer than 2 seconds for the first time.

”I guess.”

”You guess? You’s mentioned like 20 names in the last 30 minutes.”

Race shrugged, “Well, a 5-piece puzzle or somethin’ would be pretty easy to figure out. That’s what it is with us. We’s all got missing pieces, so we help each other be whole.”

He realized that Spot was actually looking at him, like, in the eye. Besides a few mildly-threatening looks, that hadn’t happened before.

”I never really understood people before,” Race admitted, “And people never understood me. But the fellas, they get it. Get me. I gots messy, broken edges, but so do they. We match up somehow.”

Something in Spot’s eyes did seem to recognize parts of that. About not feeling understood, being messy, having broken edges. Race had expected that.

Why the hell was he still so sure that a few of his messy edges matched up with Spot’s?

They both jumped as the bell rang.

”Good chat,” Race said, ignoring the fact that he’d done all the chatting.

...

It went like that for the next few days. Race would just talk about nothing all through whatever free work time they got, and Spot would listen. They still kind of avoided each other in PE, but English was easy. Comfortable. Maybe neither of them knew why, but the rhythm of it was familiar. Race didn’t even mind that Spot spoke _maybe_ 30 words to him per day.

He wouldn’t say that Spot liked him, but at least he tolerated him. That was enough for Race.

They kind of ignored each other in PE, with Race sticking with Albert, Jack, and Davey, who was starting to come out of his shell a little.

”Hey, I was wondering...” Davey hesitated.

“Wonderin’ what?” Jack eyes, his heart-eyes painfully obvious to anyone who knew him.

”I have a twin sister. Sarah.”

”Okay?”

”I was wondering if I could bring her. To the sleepover. I told her about it and she thought it sounded interesting.”

”The more the merrier,” Albert said confidently.

”It won’t be a problem that she’s a girl?”

Jack shrugged, “We already got a few girls in the group, so I hope not. If she’s got a problem sleepin’ surrounded by boys, Smalls and Sniper usually sleep on the edge of the group, so...”

”Smalls and Sniper are girls’ names?” Davey asked.

Race shrugged, “Well, ‘Racetrack’ ain’t exactly a gendered name, so...”

”Fair point. I’ll let Sarah know she’s welcome if she wants to come.”

“Listen up!”

The boys focused on what the gym teacher was saying. Race registered Spot looking up, interested. He seemed to already know what was going on.

”There’s a new club starting up,” the teacher explained, “Self-defense club. It will be on Fridays from right after school to 3:00. You and your parents will have to sign a waiver, but all the equipment needed will be provided, except for mouth guards. You’ll have to buy your own of those.”

Race had absolutely no interest in a self defense club. He’d seen enough violence in his life.

”Now grab a buddy for sit-ups.”

”Oops!” Albert said loudly, “Looks like we have an odd number of people, here, Coach! Can I truddy up with Jack and Davey?”

The gym teacher nodded, looking a little confused. They’d had that same teacher freshman year. He knew that Albert always partnered up with Race. What the hell was Albert..?

Oh, that was a low blow.

“No,” Race said quietly, “No, Albie. No.”

”Whoops. Too late. Have fun.”

Jack looked pretty confused, looking around the room.

Sure enough, as Albert must have counted on, everyone was avoiding Spot, partnering up with _everyone_ else.

Unfortunately, Jack realized that, too.

”The scary Conlon kid? Okay, we’s gonna talk about that later.”

Race was already dreading that conversation, but he nodded, “Okay.”

He turned to see that Spot was looking at him from across the gym.

Shit. He probably thought Race did this on purpose.

Race turned his head to his friends, “Albie, you’s an asshole.”

“You’re welcome.”

Spot still didn’t look happy when Race volunteered to go first, but held his feet when he started doing sit-ups, anyway.

“You joinin’ fight club?”

Race was so surprised that Spot had spoken to him first that he couldn’t respond for a good few seconds.

”Uh... wasn’t plannin’ on it. Theatre takes most of my time.”

“Right.”

Race thought about asking Spot about the long sleeves thing, then remembered that trying to move too fast with trust was what had gotten him on Spot’s bad side in the first place.

They didn’t talk again until they switched, and Spot did an insane amount of sit-ups in a minute.

”I counted 45,” Race said, “I could be wrong, but Spot, buddy, that was insane. You’s probably the strongest person in the whole class. Maybe the whole school.”

Spot looked surprised, “Thanks. You didn’t do so bad, yourself.”

Wait a second. Was that a compliment?

Race grinned.

“Shut up.”

”I’s done some pretty intense choreography,” he blurted to explain, “All the dance ensemble kids got strong from it.”

”Interestin’.”

Spot was more relaxed than Race had ever seen him, and though that wasn’t saying much, it was... disconcerting, but in a good way. It reminded him of the Spot in his dreams.

Something flickered in Spot’s eyes and his walls went back up, almost as if they’d never been down in the first place.

They broke eye-contact at the same time. Race prayed his wasn’t blushing.

...

Well, Jack was asking a teacher about something, Romeo was hanging out with Specs in the library, and Crutchie had somehow already managed to get roped into tutoring a freshman, so Race was left alone for a bit, just lying back on the lawn listening to music.

Race liked watching the sky. It reminded him that he was here, not in a dark basement or an over-crowded bunk bed. No one could hurt him out here.

”Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

_Oh, shit._

One of the Delancey brothers yanked out his earbuds and tossed his phone aside while the other yanked him to his feet, starting to pull him towards the back of the school.

Shit. _Shit, shit, shit._ This was not good.

The theatre kids rarely went anywhere alone for this very reason. Everyone had at least one friend with them at all times. The school itself was usually safe territory, but their neighborhood was full of homophobic college-age kids who didn’t exactly approve of a large group of non-closeted gays all in one place, supporting and protecting each other.

No one knew where Race was. No one would know where to look. The Delancey brothers were only a year out of high school, so Race knew they were definitely twisted enough to seriously hurt him.

”Afternoon, Morris,” Race said, hiding his panic, “Oscar. How’s it goin?’”

”Better now,” Oscar sneered, “Never thought we’d get one if you theatre gays alone.”

”Jack’s inside if you’d prefer to grab him,” Race offered, “He _is_ the leader, after all.”

They all knew the Delanceys couldn’t handle Jack, who happened to be one of the few in their group who actually knew how to fight _well_.

Soon as he figured out Race was missing, he’d start looking. The Delanceys could beat Race up and risk Jack catching them, or they could leave him alone and stay safe.

Before he could so much as tense up, Morris drove all the air out of his lungs with a punch.

”Try to call for your fake brother now!”

Race was just trying to breathe, but he was pretty sure the next punch would have broken his nose if he didn’t turn his head at the last second. Even though it didn’t, it still hurt like hell.

It didn’t take long for Race to lose count of the hits. Oscar wasn’t even holding him in place anymore, just holding him up.

When he let go, Race dropped like a stone, curling into a ball to try to protect himself.

He was _extremely_ out of it, but he had a vague thought that he couldn’t fight back now even if he knew how. The Delanceys could kill him and he wouldn’t be able to stop them.

”Hey!”

There were more hits landing, but Race didn’t feel any more pain. He was super confused.

”Oh, God. Race?”

Race groaned. His flinch was slightly delayed when someone touched his arm.

The touch didn’t hurt. It wasn’t another blow. It was gentle, barely even there.

Race managed to uncurl a little, opening his eyes.

Spot was kneeling next to him, looking concerned.

”Hi,” Race whispered. Breathing was starting to hurt less. Ironically, that probably wasn’t a good thing.

He hadn’t gone into shock in years, but he recognized what it felt like. The pain was dulled, but every inch of him still felt wrong.

”I’m going to pass out,” Race mumbled.

”No,” Spot said urgently, “Nope. Keep your eyes open, Race. Talk to me. Tell me more about your brothers. Your friends. How many of you are there again?”

”Don’t know,” Race admitted, “It’s weird, right? ‘Round middle school, we all lost track of how many of us there were.”

”That _is_ weird. Tell me about it.”

”You’s only askin’ cause I might have a concussion and if I pass out, it might be bad.”

”Maybe I am. Tell me, anyway.”

Race tried to think, trying to decide if the dial tone he was hearing was his imagination.

”We’s a weird group. We all know things ‘bout each other we’s never told each other. Elmer has this conspiracy theory we alls was friends in a past life and that’s how come.”

_”911, what is your emergency?”_

”I’m behind NY World High. There’s a kid here that got soaked. He’s hurt. It’s bad. I think he has a concussion.”

”An ambulance is on its way. Try to keep him conscious.”

”I know what to do.”

Spot hung up, and Race laughed deliriously.

”Didn’t realize you cared.”

”I don’t. You’s gonna owe me one after this.”

”Fun.” Race was drifting.

” _Keep your eyes open_ , Racer. Tell me more about Elmer’s conspiracy theory. Do you believe it?”

”Not really,” Race admitted, “I acts like I do around him, but...”

”Quit driftin’ on me. Stay awake. Talk to me, Race.”

”With all my friends, I felt like I already knew them when I met them for the first time. It kinda felt like fate, all that deja vu shit, already carin’ about someone you’s just met. It felt more like seein’ an old friend after bein’ apart a long time, you know?”

”I guess,” Spot admitted, “I made friends with a kid in my math class and it felt kind of like that. He calls himself Hotshot.”

”Oh, I know him,” Race mumbled, “He’s datin’ Ike. You don’t got a problem with that, right?”

”No. He mentioned somethin’ bout a boyfriend. I don’t care. Hey, Race, you need to stay awake. _Keep your eyes open_.”

Race was _really_ fighting unconsciousness, now, but he tried.

”I felt like I knew you,” he told Spot, “Even more than my friends. Bein’ around you feels familiar.”

“Yeah...” Spot seemed a little uncomfortable, “I guess so. You seem familiar, too.”

”Ugh. I don’t think I can stay awake anymore.”

“You have to. You owe me, remember? We need to talk ‘bout what you’re gonna give me.”

”What do ya want?” Race muttered.

“I want you to join that fight club with me. Clearly, ya can’t defend yourself.”

”I don’t want to hurt people.”

”There’s a difference ‘tween hurting and defending.”

Race shook his head. The movement hurt, “I can’t.”

”Well, not right now, dumbass,” Spot grumbled, “Fine. This is a big thing. What if I come to that stupid sleepover next week? Will you join then?”

”Hmm...”

”Race!” Spot shook him gently, “We got a deal?”

”Uh...” Race tried to think, “Yeah. Yeah, we’s gots a deal. I’d shake on it, but...”

”Anthony Higgins, you need to stay awake for me or the deal’s off.”

”I’m sorry,” Race whispered, trying not to slip away. He didn’t question how Spot knew his real name for some reason. It just felt right that he did, even though he didn’t think he’d ever told him.

Spot sighed, “Don’t be. Just keep talkin’ to me. What are we gonna do at the sleepover?”

”We usually sing along to soundtracks of musicals. And we play... play truth or... dare. And park bench. All the sleepover games, plus some acting exercises. It’s real... real... fun...”

Sirens were sounding, and people were shouting. Race could pick out Jack’s panicked voice. Crutchie demanding to know who did this. The worry in Romeo’s tone.

The only thing he could hold onto was Spot, speaking to him quietly, more worry and fear in his tone than Race was expecting.

”Race. Race, stay awake. Come on, Racer, keep your eyes open. Race, _open your eyes. Please.”_

The world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race actually manages to make some progress on a friendship with Spot.

”We _can’t keep doin’ this forever.”_

_Race opened his eyes, leaning back. He was a little confused why Spot was bringing this up now.  
_

_They were sitting on Spot’s bed in Brooklyn’s Lodging House, both having finished selling early, taking advantage of the empty building._

_”I know.”_

_Race was 18. Spot would be 19 in a month. They were both a little old to be Newsies at this point, and Spot had survived almost 5 years as the King of Brooklyn. Much longer would be pushing his luck._

_Hell, Race was a leader, now, too. Davey and Jack had moved out 2 years ago and left him and Crutchie in charge. And..._

_God, had Crutchie really left 6 months ago? Race had been doing this alone for a while, leaning on Elmer, Henry, and, surprisingly, Les, if he needed help.  
_

_Elmer was 17 now. Henry was 16. Les was almost 13. They’d all grown up in the 3 years since the strike._

_”I’m leavin’ Brooklyn to Bluebird.”  
_

_”Seriously?”_

_Blue had been a Brooklyn girl since Spot had found her, before he was even king, 9 years ago. Race had met her when she was 6 and he was 11, back when he and Spot were still just friends, and they’d both been around for most of her childhood. Hell, they’d practically raised her.  
_

_It was startling to think back on how many of Race’s Brooklyn memories had Bluebird in them along with Spot. Race remembered threatening the first boy she was ever interested in. He remembered sleeping over in Brooklyn and having her crawl into bed in between him and Spot in the middle of the night because she had a nightmare. Even being only 5 years younger than Race, she was the closest thing they’d ever get to a daughter._

_Blue was almost 14 now. She was just as tough and cunning as Spot, but with Race’s charisma and friendliness. She didn’t start fights unless she had to, but could definitely win if it came to one, be it negotiation or a physical brawl.  
_

_Still, would Brooklyn respect a girl as king?_

_”She’ll be fine,” Spot said, sensing his worries, “She’s older than I was.”_

_”That ain’t sayin’ much,” Race muttered, “She’s 13, Spottie. You think she can handle runnin’ a city?”_

_”I know she can. It’s what I’s been preparin’ her for since she was little.”_

_”You mean you planned for this? She’s a kid, Spot!”_

_”And we ain’t anymore!” Spot sighed, “Race, I knew Bluebird had the potential the day I met her. And as much as I wish I could wait ‘till she’s a bit older, we. can’t. stay here much longer. Blue knows that. She’s the one who told me to bring it up with you.”_

_”What if the others won’t respect her?”_

_”You know she can handle herself in a fight. I taught her everything I know. And if someone comes along she can’t handle, she’s got Hotshot, Scarf, and everyone who actually knows her backin’ her up. And we’ll stay close, just in case. I’ll get a job at the docks.”  
_

_Race thought back on Katherine, 3 years ago, high on adrenaline and victory, declaring that they could stay young forever._

_Jack and Davey had gone and grown up the fastest. They had a real apartment, with a couch that was always open if a Newsie needed a place to crash._

_Specs had actually managed to pay his way into some night classes, and he was on his way to becoming a doctor. He’d grown up and moved out and took Romeo with him.  
_

_Albert and Finch had been gone nearly a year. Race couldn’t visit them often, but even only briefly seeing them on visits, he could always see how much they’d grown up._

_Crutchie had grown up and gotten a job at a bar, but still always made time for Race if he needed advice, which was stupid because he wasn’t even that much older._

_Even Kath herself had grown up, moving in with Sarah, who, on paper, was married to Jack, but everyone with eyes knew why Davey and Kath actually lived with them. Her writing was so good that she got prizes for it. She was always busy, now. She rarely came to meet the fellas before selling time anymore._

_Race didn’t really want to grow up, but he was growing up all the same. He and Spot couldn’t stay young forever. They had to move on eventually, and even their girl was growing up, all ready for responsibility._

_”I guess I can hand command off, soon,” he said finally, “Elmer’s been there longest ‘sides me, but he ain’t really a leader. Talkin’ in terms of those who are... Henry and Les can probably handle Manhattan if they work together.”_

_“Henry and Les,” Spot mused, “Yeah. They’s soft, like all you ‘Hattan boys, but they should be good leaders.”_

_”You could just say they’ll be good.”_

_”Where’s the fun in that?”_

_Race laughed, “Give me a couple weeks to get them used to the idea. After that, I’m yours.”_

_”Good.”_

_Spot grabbed Race’s hands, looking uncharacteristically uncertain._

_”I know we can’t do nothin’ permanent for real, but I love you, Race. I can’t promise it’ll be easy, can’t even promise we’ll live to a full one, but I want to spend whatever’s left of my life with you, however we can.”_

_Race smiled, leaning their foreheads together, “Then I guess it’s a good thing I wants the same. I’ll take whatever we can get, as long as we’s together. I love you, too.”  
_

_They were both smiling almost too much to kiss again._

_..._

Race really hated hospitals, but that was where he woke up.

”Hey, Racer.”

Jack was sitting next to his bed. Medda was standing up from the other chair next to him. Romeo and Crutchie were nowhere in sight.

”What happened?” Race asked, groggy from what felt like a not-insignificant amount of pain meds in his system.

”You passed out, honey,” Medda explained, “You got soaked real bad by those two Delancey brothers. The doctors said they didn’t break anything, miraculously—just gave you a lot of bruises—but with that concussion—“

”You could have died,” Jack interrupted, his hand tightening on Race’s, “If that Conlon kid didn’t call 911. A few more minutes and you might have fallen asleep and not woken up.”

Race took a second to process that. A, Spot had saved his life. B, he’d just had a dream where he and Spot had apparently adopted a kid together and were leaving her to run some kind of gang.

God, things were pretty messed up right now.

”Where’s Romeo and Crutchie?”

”They went to get coffee,” Jack explained, “You’s been out for ‘bout 7 hours.”

“Damn.”

”Hey!”

”Sorry, Medda.”

Race thought of something else he needed to ask.

”Can I still go to the sleepover next week?”

Medda laughed, “Hon, you’re still worried about goin’ to a sleepover?”

”You just got your ass kicked!” Jack chided.

”Jack!”

”Sorry, Medda. But Racer, I don’t think that’s your biggest concern right now. Unless... oh... I see.”

Medda took one glance at Jack’s grin and smiled knowingly, “Racetrack Higgins, do you have a crush, kiddo?”

”What? No!”

”It’s alright, Race. Jack already told me about those Jacobs twins he invited. You know there’s no shame in a crush, right?And it’s not like you can flirt much worse than Romeo did with Specs.”

”I resent that, Medda!” Romeo exclaimed as he and Crutchie came in, two coffee cups, each.

”Kid, you were terrible and you know it.”

”I’d love to defend ya,” Crutchie said, “But I can’t. I’s never seen someone who’s usually okay with words be that awkward. How ya feelin’, Race?”

”Like I got soaked by two guys bigger than me.”

”They’s gonna find the Delanceys,” Crutchie said firmly, “I ain’t usually one for trustin’ the cops, but the fellas raised enough hell to get everybody lookin.’ Those weasels can’t hide for long.”

”Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jack said impatiently, “Back to Race’s other problem. The short, scary, mildly attractive one.”

”Ooh,” Romeo teased, “You mean the strong, brave, quiet one who saved his life?”

”Careful, boys,” Crutchie warned, “If you get his heart rate too high, the nurse will come in.”

All of Race’s brothers laughed unreasonably loudly.

”Never pegged you as liking the strong, silent type,” Jack admitted.

”If I admit it, will you shut up?”

”Maybe,” Romeo decided.

”Then fine,” Race said, “Maybe I’m carrying a torch for Spot Conlon. Happy?”

”Spot?” Jack asked mischievously, “You knew a nickname for him?”

”Good for you, kid!” Medda exclaimed.

“You can’t exactly judge, Jack!” Race pointed out, “Actually, Ro, you can’t, either!”

”Not judgin’,” Crutchie corrected, “We’re happy for you! Not like we can judge the boy who saved your life!”

Well. That was unexpected.

But, Race guessed they couldn’t be overprotective against someone who had protected Race.

”We‘s made a deal,” he explained, “If I join self-defense club, at least for a little while, Spot will come to the sleepover.“

”Good,” Jack said firmly, “Even Crutchie can at least swing a punch without hurtin’ himself. You’s the only one in our friend group who can’t.”

”Not true! Elmer—“

”I taught Elmer to punch correctly myself,” Romeo interrupted, “Try again.”

”Smalls?”

Crutchie laughed, “You really think Sniper would let her girlfriend walk around without a way to defend herself?”

“Speakin’ of girls,” Jack said, “I just remembered! I invited this nice girl in my English class, Katherine, to the sleepover. You guys’ll love her. She’s sassy as Albert and twice as smart.”

Race had hung out with a girl named Katherine in his dreams. He didn’t remember a lot about her, but he did remember her as witty, sarcastic, and smart.

Okay, the more he thought about this, the dreams, their friend group’s weirdness, their unbreakable bond, the weirder it seemed. It was probably a problem to work out some other day, but Race definitely was going to think about it in-depth some time.

”So, can I go to the sleepover, Medda?” he asked.

Medda thought about it, “Well, most of your injuries are superficial... long as you’re careful, I think we’ll just have to wait and see how you feel next week.”

“If ya can’t, we’ll reschedule,” Jack said stubbornly, “We ain’t doin’ it without ya, Racer.”

Crutchie grinned, “Well, Jack is President, so he can make that call.”

”Aw. Thanks, Jackie. Love ya, too. Love all 4 of ya.”

Romeo practically collapsed onto Race to hug him, and Crutchie and Jack didn’t take long to add themselves to the pile. Medda waited until they were done to kiss Race on the forehead before he passed out from the meds again.

...

 _”You’re_ not _going.”_

_Race had known Bluebird over 20 years, now, and he still hated saying no to her._

_She’d grown into a strong, powerful woman, and yet he’d never stopped seeing her as his kid. His and Spot’s kid. If not their daughter, at least a kind of little sister to both of them._

_Race sighed, “We have to, Blue. I’m sorry.”_

_Bluebird shook her head. Her bottom lip was trembling. Race hadn’t seen her this upset since she almost got grabbed by a gangster when she was 10. After that, Spot had taught her to fight so that she’d never have to be vulnerable again._

_Blue had been the King of Brooklyn until she was 19 and still carried an air of authority and danger to rival Spot’s. There was a reason she’d lasted as long as she did, only the second king maybe ever to survive long enough to pass off her throne peacefully._

_She was 30 now. That was weird to think about. She was kind of an old maid at this point, not that Race was complaining. He never did like watching her go out with people.  
_

_”So, what was it all for?” she asked, halfway to hysterical, “You raise me since I was 6 fuckin’ years old, you stay in Brooklyn to make sure people respect me as king, you go out of your way to keep me safe for my whole life—only to leave me behind, now? Is that what it’s like? Huh?”_

_There was no venom in her voice, and no force behind her fist when she swung at Race. She was angry, but more than that, she was desperately sad. She was already grieving. He hated seeing her like this._

_”Bluebird, kiddo, you know we wouldn’t leave ya if we had another choice.”_

_“You do have a choice! You have a fuckin’ choice, Race!_ _“_

_”If we don’t go, they’ll make us sooner or later. At least this way, we’re all in it together.”_

_“They can’t make you!”_

_”Actually, they can.”_

_”They can’t! Just don’t let them!”_

_Blue was being irrational and they both knew it. This was why Spot had left the duty of telling her to Race. If he was the one to do it, it would end in a shouted bitching match. Race had always been better at de-escalating.  
_

_And it was probably also just too painful for him. Spot had known Bluebird even longer than Race had. And for Race, this was already the hardest thing in the world._

_He would go back to the Refuge, he would get soaked by the Delanceys, he would relive watching all his friends—his family—get soaked by the bulls for striking, if it would mean he could avoid this moment._

_How did you tell one of the people you loved most that you were going away to war?_

_The former Newsies who‘d been involved in the 1899 strike had all met up at Medda’s theatre a few days ago. Jack had gone up on stage to let them know about what he, Spot, Davey, Race, and several others had already agreed to do._

_He made it clear that no one had to do it if they didn’t want to, but the draft would come for them all sooner or later if they didn’t enlist. Their logic was that if they enlisted together, they’d probably end up in training together, maybe even the same company._

_In it together, live or die. At least they would go through hell with their friends right there beside them._

_It wasn’t all of them, but it was most of Race’s friends. The only one of the old Manhattan boys not doing it that he knew of was Crutchie, who_ couldn’t _come with them.  
_

_The logic behind it was sound, and Race believed in it, but that didn’t make it any easier to tell Blue about it._

_When she swung at him again, Race caught her hands and pulled her against him, hating how she sobbed in a way she probably hadn’t in at least a decade._

_Bluebird was just a little shorter than Spot, a fact that she hated and Spot loved. Race was usually on her side, thinking it would be funny if she was taller, but today, he was grateful for the way he could rest his chin on top of her head. Her being small certainly made it easier to hold her for comfort._

_”We have to go, Blue,” he whispered, trying not to let his voice break._

_”Promise me you’ll come back,” she said, her voice muffled by his shirt._

_”Bluebird...”_

_Race didn’t want to make a promise he didn’t know if he could keep._

_”Promise me,” she pressed._

_”I promise you we’ll try,” he whispered, “I swear, Bluebird, Spot and I will do everythin’ in our power to survive and come home to you.”_

_What she said next was so quiet he almost didn’t hear it._

_”Athena.”_

_”What?”_

_Bluebird looked up at him, “You’s helped kept every part of me safe since I was 6, Race. This is a part I never showed you. I know yours. After all this time, it’s only fair. My real name. It’s Athena.”  
_

_Race had never even thought about the fact that he didn’t know Bluebird’s real name._

_Damn. As if it wasn’t already hard enough not to cry._

_”You’s goin’ to protect the country, right?” Blue pointed out, “The people in it? My legal name ain’t Bluebird. I just thought... you should know who you’re protectin’. The person you’s fightin’ to come home to.”_

_Race hugged her tighter, “I’ll be fightin’ to protect both Bluebird_ and _Athena. And I promise I’ll do everythin’ I can to come home to you.”_

_Over her head, Race made eye contact with Spot as he came in, home from work for the day, for the last time until God knew when before they shipped out to training camp._

_Race was half expecting Blue to start yelling at him for not being man enough to be there when Race told her, but Bluebird just reached out one arm behind her, beckoning Spot to come over._

_Spot ruffled her hair just like he had when they were all kids, back when they sold newspapers and made just enough to feed themselves and keep their beds and everything was simple. For a second, it was just like when Blue would crawl into bed with them and be small enough for them to protect her from the world._

_When he wrapped his arms around both of them, Race knew Spot was trying to pretend he could keep them both shielded forever._

_”We both will,” Spot promised, “We’ll try our damn best, Blue.”_

_Bluebird squeezed them tighter and cried into the embrace as she hadn’t since she was a little girl._

_Race locked eyes with Spot over her head, taking a deep breath._

_Sarah, Smalls, and Sniper were women, and they were all going off to war with their boys, anyway, signing on as nurses. Throughout all the boroughs, Race knew a few more female former Newsies who were doing the same. Even Katherine was going, having raised enough hell to make the Sun let her to go as a journalist to write about the war.  
_

_They’d already agreed to not to tell Bluebird about that option. To leave her in New York, where she would be safe._

_Maybe they were doing it for her own good. Maybe this would keep her alive._

_But no matter the reason, they really were leaving Bluebird behind._

_..._

Race woke up crying. He lied to his family about why.

...

Thank God, Race was healed enough to go to school on Monday as long as someone kept an eye on him, and since he had at least one friend in each class, he would probably be fine.

The whole friend group was obviously eager to make sure he was okay, but had clearly planned in advance so as not to crowd him, not that Race thought he could ever get overwhelmed by the people he loved most.

Long story short... he was wrong.

It had been years since Race had last gotten soaked bad. He’d forgotten what it was like to flinch away from every fast-moving hand.

Luckily, (reminding Race of why he loved his friends so much) the fellas noticed and adjusted accordingly. All of them, except maybe Davey and Sarah, who were just now starting to hang out with them in the mornings, knew how to deal around damaged kids.

”Can I hug you?” Albert asked, more uncertain than he usually was.

”’Course.”

It had only been 2 days, but Race had missed his best friend’s hugs. The contact was comforting, and it kept too many people from getting too close without meaning to, with how Albert kept an arm around his shoulders.

”Heard you fought both Delanceys at once,” Henry said with a smirk, “Bad. Ass. Great job, Racer.”

Race rolled his eyes, ignoring the headache and nausea, “If by ‘fought’ you mean, ‘got my ass kicked,’ then yes. Spot did the fighting.”

”Ah, yes,” Romeo said, leaning against Specs dramatically, “Racetrack’s knight in shinin’ armor! I’m swoonin’.”

“Shut up. If anythin’, he’s a knight in a red hoodie.”

”Guess we can’t judge him now,” Specs said with a smirk.

”Even I can’t,” Jack agreed, “Care to tell the fellas the good news about your knight in shinin’ red hoodie?”

Henry gasped, “Racer, did you actually get someone to agree to go out with you?”

”No! Nothin’ like that! He agreed to come to the sleepover if I join fight club with him. Nothin’ more.”

”But you ain’t denyin’ you _want_ to do more’n that,” Crutchie pointed out.

Romeo made an obnoxious kissy face at him and even Specs chuckled. Albert’s laugh jostled Race’s bruised ribs.

“Oh, speakin’ of the sleepover...” Jack ran a few steps away, grabbing Davey’s elbow to drag him and the vaguely familiar girl he was talking to over.

”Race, I’d like ya to meet Davey’s sister, Sarah. Sarah, this is my little brother, Race.”

Race tipped his hat, “Nice to meet ya.”

”You look like shit,” Sarah observed.

Race laughed, wincing a little at the pain in his side, “Oh, I like her.”

”He got soaked, Saz,” Davey chided, “You feelin’ okay, Race?”

Race shrugged, “Better than on Friday. Somebody’s supposed to babysit me all day and call 911 if I pass out randomly, though.”

”Damn,” Sarah said, “Who tried to kill you?”

”A couple of homophobic asshats who didn’t like that this group is all out and proud of who we is. Oh—you knows that the whole group’s LGBT in some way, right? Unless you ain’t.”

”I know now,” Sarah responded, “And I’m a lesbian, so don’t get any ideas.”

”I’m about the gayest gay to ever gay, so I would never.”

Romeo gasped in offense, “I thought _I_ was the gayest gay to ever gay!”

”You’re pan, babe,” Specs said in a tired voice.

”I knows that! But does it have to be my big brother who beats me?”

”I’m bi,” Davey blurted. By his tone, Race guessed he probably wasn’t out to everyone yet.

“Oh!” Jack exclaimed, “Me, too! Welcome to the club!”

Everyone smirked at the love-struck, startled smile on their leader’s face.

”You sure you’s okay, Race?” Albert asked quietly.

Race nodded, “Just a little sore.”

”Ya know that ain’t what I meant. I‘s saw you flinch when Henry and I ran up.”

”I’m fine, Albie. Ain’t been hurt like that in a long while, but it’ll be better in time for the sleepover. Honest.”

Albert gave him a look, “Pushin’ yourself to heal too fast ain’t healthy.”

”Never said it was.”

“You stealin’ my boyfriend, Racer?” Finch asked, wrapping an arm around Albert from his other side.

Race grinned, “I could seduce him if I wanted.”

”Nah, he couldn’t.”

Race pulled away from his best friend when Finch leaned in to kiss him. As cute as he found their relationship, PDA could get awkward when he was half-hugging one of them.

After they’d been kissing for 5 seconds, Race took off his hat and slapped Albert with it at the same time as Specs slapped Finch.

Specs fist-bumped him, “Great minds thinks alike.”

”Great minds thinks Albert and Finch should get a room,” Race agreed.

Albert smirked, ”But that’s what we did last night.”

” _Albert_ ,” Finch chided.

“ _Finch_. Would ya rather I lied to them?”

Finch rolled his eyes, “You’s is impossible.”

”I try to be.”

”I know the feeling,” Specs said, putting his arm around Romeo.

”Hey!” Romeo protested.

Albert tapped Race’s shoulder, “Ya want me to stay close, or..?”

”If you and Finch are gonna make out, please don’t.”

”Well, we only gots a few minutes ‘till the bell, but...”

Race rolled his eyes at the look Albert gave his boyfriend.

“Have fun, Albie! Don’t do anythin’ Romeo would do!”

Romeo smacked him with his hat, barely any force behind the blow, as Albert and Finch headed for the back of the building.

As much as several pairs of his friends seemed to love taking advantage of the privacy, Race would be happy if he never had to go back there again.

...

The second Race got into English class, he made eye contact with Spot, who had clearly been watching the door.

“You look... conscious,” he noted.

”Thanks,” Race said, sitting down, “And also, thank you, for savin’ me.“

Spot shrugged, “It was nothin’.”

”Not to me. Never had no one come help me when I was gettin’ soaked before, ‘less the cops comin’ to take me away the next day counts.”

”It doesn’t.”

”Then you’s the first person to ever save me.”

It was true. Even Jack had never been able to. He’d done his best to protect Race, back in the place they’d met, but that usually had just ended in them _both_ getting hurt.

”Try to,” Spot corrected, “How bad is it?”

Race realized that _he_ didn’t even have Spot’s phone number, let alone anyone else. After the ambulance came, he probably hadn’t heard how Race was until now.

Oddly, Race thought back on his old foster siblings, the ones he’d met in bad places. Most of them, he’d been separated from pretty young, and when he asked after them, no one could tell him. It had sucked, knowing they were out there, that they were probably recovering from injuries, knowing that he would never see them again or know if they were okay.

Race and Medda had done their best to track down as many of those kids as possible years ago, and tried to make sure they ended up in good homes, with friends of Medda’s. It had felt good, knowing they were making some small difference for those kids, but...

There had been at least a couple kids they’d never found. Kids who hadn’t made it out of the bad places. Race hated worrying after someone he’d only known a short time, but he was worried. Those kids could still be hurting, they could be dead...

Race wondered if that was how Spot had felt this weekend. Probably not.

”It’s mostly bruises,” he said, “All superficial stuff. I do got a concussion and some bruised ribs, but I can still go to the sleepover. That reminds me! I didn’t keep my eyes open. You still comin’?”

Spot rolled his eyes, “You think I’m backin’ out of a deal just ‘cause you passed out? That ain’t your fault. Long as you’s in fight club on Friday, I’m at your sleepover.”

”You don’t have to,” Race said quickly, “If it makes ya uncomfortable.”

”I don’t break deals. I’m comin’. I ain’t singin’ anything, but I’ll be there.”

Race nodded, “That’s fair.”

There was a few seconds of silence.

”’Round how many people, do ya think?”

Race shrugged, “Somewhere around 30 to 40. They’s all nice, though. More’n a few have been through bad places, where they’s got hurt. If you don’t want nobody touchin’ you or need to take a minute outside, everyone’ll understand and respect that.”

Spot looked skeptical, but didn’t question it.

Race was shocked when the shorter boy slowly put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

”You are?!”

When he saw the look on Race’s face, Spot rolled his eyes.

“You’re annoying, but you’re... you’re nice to me. You’s the first person to do that in a long time. So, yeah, I’m glad you’re okay, because I’m a half decent fuckin’ human being. Don’t overthink it.”

Race was definitely overthinking it.

...

“Oh, so you’s _in love_ in love,” Blink said flatly.

Five minutes into Math and Race was already wishing he wasn’t sitting right next to that particular friend.

Well, not really. Just wishing this conversation was over.

”That ain’t nice,” Mush said gently, being the only other one at their table group, since no one else wanted to sit at the gay table.

Mush and Blink had been the first couple to actually get together. Where Finch and Albert had danced around their feelings for half of 8th grade, Smalls had refused to even admit she liked girls (let alone Sniper) until freshman year, and Romeo had wasted time flirting terribly with Specs for six months, Mush and Blink hadn’t wasted their time.

They’d met in 8th grade when Blink moved to their school and gotten together not a month later. Well, as much as two 8th-graders _could_ get together. As in, sitting together at lunch and occasionally going to a movie together.

Of course, it had probably been helped along by the fact that Blink’s dad was terrible, and 2 weeks after meeting the fellas, he had showed up on Mush’s doorstep with a backpack of clothes, saying he had nowhere else to go. As far as Race knew, Blink’s dad had never come looking for him, and he’d been living with Mush’s family ever since. That was a good thing. Race didn’t know the details, but Blink hadn’t lost his eye for no reason.

Knowing firsthand that it wouldn’t help, Race never pulled punches when Blink sassed him. He just sassed back.

”It ain’t love, Blink,” he said, “I met him a week ago.”

”I was in love with Mush within a week,” Blink said dismissively.

”Well, we ain’t exactly normal, love,” Mush said.

”Yeah, but Racer is one of us. You know he is.”

“One of us?” Race asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

”You know Elmer’s theory, right?”

Race laughed, “Blink, don’t tell me you believe that shit.”

Mush shrugged, “We knows he’s right. It’s... complicated.”

”Ain’t somethin’ you talk ‘bout with everybody,” Blink agreed.

”What ain’t?”

Blink and Mush exchanged a glance, seeming to be having a silent debate.

Honestly, Race didn’t know who won, or who was fighting for what, but Mush’s face was dead serious as he leaned in close to talk quietly.

”Ya know the dreams? The ones that feel as real as your real memories?”

Race felt his blood run cold. He knew his face had to be priceless right about now, but he didn’t care.

”They tells a story, right?” Blink added, “Always the same people, always the same place, just doin’ different things. The group jokes ‘bout ‘em, but...”

”Nobody really wants to admit that they’s dreamin’ memories,” Mush finished, “Not from this life, but... have ya ever asked specifics ‘bout other people’s dreams? If you ever try talkin’ about one specific event with who was there in the dream, too much matches up to be a coincidence.”

Race was super confused by how as much as he kind of still thought Elmer’s theory was bullshit, he wanted to test this out.

Unfortunately, the teacher started class, so testing this crazy conspiracy whatever would have to wait.

...

It wasn’t until the next morning, before school, that Race got Elmer alone, figuring it would probably be best to talk about this with someone who always believed it.

”So, about your conspiracy theory...”

”I know you don’t believe it, Racer, so—“

”I’m not sayin’ I do,” Race admitted, “But Blink and Mush said somethin’ ‘bout the events of different people’s dreams matchin’ up.”

”And you wants to test that,” Elmer guessed.

”Exactly.”

Race honestly had expected him to try harder to defend his theory, and why Race should believe it, but he didn’t. He just shrugged.

”Shoot. Ask me ‘bout a dream you had with me in it.”

Well, wasn’t that a charged question? Race decided not to point out the innuendo, knowing Elmer was actually kind of shy about that kind of thing.

”There was one dream where...” he thought back, “We was talkin’ ‘bout things that made good headlines for some reason. What’d you suggest?”

Elmer’s eyes lit up, “I remember this one! Crooked politician.”

He was actually right. Holy shit.

”What the fuck?” Race mumbled under his breath.

“Jack and Crutchie were suggestin’ earthquakes and wars, right?” Elmer asked, “And all the fellas thought my idea was stupid. A bunch of ‘em hit me with their hats, but not hard.”

Race was, for once, at a loss for words.

Because he didn’t remember everything from this whole ‘dream world,’ but from what he did remember of this specific event, that was _exactly_ what happened.

“How did you—“

Elmer just shrugged, “Same way I remember walkin’ in on Mush and Blink makin’ out one time, ‘cept it was before they even got together in real life. And in the dream, they looked older. ‘Bout how they look now. All the events in the dreams are part of the same story, but they’s all out of order.”

”Ask me one,” Race said, “Just to make sure.”

He seemed to be thinking about it for a minute.

”How ‘bout... I was sick real bad one winter. In the dream, I was 16, maybe 17. You was real worried. Everyone was. I thinks everyone thought I was gonna die. But you was probably the most worried, ‘cause for some reason, you were responsible for me. What happened next?”

”I was ‘bout ready to call your ma and tell her to come say her goodbyes,” Race recalled, “And then... then Spot came by with some medicine. He told me not to ask where he got it, but I did anyway and we found out...”

”He stole it,” Elmer finished with a triumphant grin, “And I think you thought I was too sick to notice, cause you told him he was stupid, he coulda gotten caught, but then you ki...”

”Please don’t finish that sentence.”

Race didn’t know what to think.

_What the actual hell?_

Was this crazy conspiracy theory actually true?

If it was, why was Race stupid enough to only be noticing it now? Plenty of his dreams had at least somewhat matched up with Albert’s and they’d just laughed it off. They’d never asked for specifics or tried to clarify, confirming that, yes, I dreamed the exact same thing as you.

God, they were all dumbasses, weren’t they? And Elmer, who always needed help with his homework because he was dyslexic and also just had a really short attention span, was probably the smartest among them for figuring it out first.

Yet another example of book smarts and life smarts not exactly matching up.

And if he was actually right, if all this had really happened and they were all just meeting each other and forming the same bonds again...

In another life, Race had been in love with Spot Conlon. And Spot had loved him right back.

And he had never dreamed anything as serious as his own death, but Race couldn’t shake the feeling that this story he was reliving by night didn’t have a happy ending.

”You probably needs some time to process this,” Elmer observed. He turned to leave, “I should—“

”Hey, Elm...”

Elmer stopped, looking at him curiously.

”Yeah?”

”In your dreams, were ya... in love with anybody?”

Elmer froze, seeming shell shocked by the question.

Race shook his head, “Nevermind. You don’t have to answer that.”

”I had a crush on someone,” Elmer admitted quietly, “I don’t know if it was requited. I don’t think I ever found out.”

Race figured it would probably be overstepping to ask who.

”If you knows who it is, you should find out in this lifetime.”

His friend smirked at the implication that Race believed this crazy theory now.

”Maybe. And maybe you should make a move on who ya definitely had a requited thing with before.”

“Maybe.”

Race had no plans on being anything more than friends with Spot as of now. He didn’t want him to think it was just because of the whole life-saving thing. That would probably make it weird.

...

_Race took a deep breath. He’d spent all afternoon with Ike and Smalls, trying to help Jack comfort them._

_This was a nightmare._

_Hotshot had gotten shot by German soldiers. Two rounds through his shoulder. And Brooklyn boys were built tough, but he had still cried out when he went down._

_Ike had screamed right along with him, yelling desperately for a medic._

_Smalls and Sniper had come with a stretcher to carry him to safety. That was when a bullet passed close enough that it nearly gave Smalls a haircut._

_Her lover’s eyes had hardened. She’d picked up Hotshot’s gun, checked the ammunition, and started shooting right along with the boys._

_By some stroke of luck, good or bad, most of the former Newsies had gotten assigned to the same company. They were in this together, live or die, just like they’d planned, and honestly, Race wouldn’t have it any other way._

_That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell when he watched his friends die, watched their lovers grieve them, tried to comfort said lovers while he, himself, was grieving lost friends._

_Sniper lasted a few hours—which Race was sure was longer than their superiors would have thought a woman could—and what had taken her out would have killed any soldier. The bullet that went through her head would have killed Hotshot, had he been in her place.  
_

_Not that it mattered. Sarah and Smalls had done their best, but Hotshot had lost too much blood and died, anyway._

_Race didn’t want to think about if it was worse for Ike, who had to anticipate it, but at least got to say goodbye, or Smalls, who wasn’t even with her lover when she died, and would never really get closure._

_Having been leader of Manhattan for 2 years, he’d felt responsible for trying to comfort them, but ultimately, had backed off to let Jack do it. Somehow, even though anyone who knew him would see the pain in his eyes, he managed to put on a smile for Ike and Smalls, joking around gently and hugging them like everything would be okay._

_Nothing would be okay. Sniper and Hotshot were dead. They were never coming home, and they would probably not be the lasts._

_God, Race didn’t want to think about what he would do if the next one was Spot._

_Spot wasn’t usually the kind of soldier who drank to try to escape the horrors of the battlefield, but he sure seemed to be trying, now._

_Hell, most of them were._

_”He was my second,” Spot said numbly when Race sat down next to him, “For near 5 years, I trusted him to watch my back. And then I couldn’t watch his.”  
_

_Race poured himself a drink, “I get it.”_

_Spot scoffed._

_”You think I don’t? She was Manhattan. She was my responsibility for 2 years. And she never needed nobody backin’ her up that whole time. Then here... God, she didn’t even have a helmet. Why couldn’t they just let her fight? ‘Least then, she woulda had somethin’ protectin’ her.”_

_“They thinks they’s so smart, excludin’ the girls.”_

_”Yeah! Sniper coulda handled herself if they’d given her the tools.”_

_Spot laughed brokenly, “You sure ‘bout that? Cause Hotshot had the tools and he’s still gone.”_

_Race took a deep breath._

_He wanted to believe so badly that the only reason Sniper was gone was because she hadn’t been given what she needed to fight properly._

_Because if that wasn’t why, it meant it would happen again. It meant that Race would lose more friends and goddammit it wasn’t logical to think they’d all survive this but he’d dared to dream it, anyway._

_Albert locked eyes with Race from across the bar with a grimace. He and Henry were sitting with Finch, trying their damn best to not let him drink himself to death._

_Remembering how many slingshot contests they used to have, Sniper had probably been Finch’s best friend._

_Judging by the fact that he wasn’t crying, just staring into space as he knocked back shots, the twin that was sitting alone at a table nearby was probably Mike. The twins were friends with each other’s partners. That meant that Mike was grieving almost as much as his brother and..._

_Damn it. Race didn’t have anything to give him right now. He couldn’t comfort anyone when he was barely holding up himself._

_Luckily, Jojo sat down across from him, grabbing his lover’s hand, and after a few tries, managed to get Mike talking quietly about something._

_”I don’t know how Jack does it,” Race muttered, “Smilin’ for them, actin’ like we’s just kids back in the Lodging House and Sniper and Hotshot just got soaked or somethin’, and they’ll be back walkin’ around in a few days, ‘stead of them being...”_

_He couldn’t finish that sentence._

_Spot took a deep breath, “When you’s a leader, you learn to put everythin’ aside for someone else’s sake. Sometimes kids don’t make it through the winter. Sometimes you try and try, but ya can’t feed everyone. Sometimes you don’t get there fast enough when someone’s hurtin’. But you still put on a brave face, ‘cause it’s what they need to see.”_

_He paused to take a sip of his drink._

_”Still... I don’t think I could smile like Cowboy.”_

_Race had been a leader during a time that... well, it wasn’t easy, but it was good as it got. The worst months were the winters, and even then, maybe not everyone ate every night, but everyone survived. Besides that, he and Crutchie had managed to keep peace with other boroughs, and if a kid didn’t sell enough to make ends meet, they could usually scrape enough out of what little everyone else could spare to at least keep them out of the streets.  
_

_It was startling to realize that Race hadn’t really experienced death since he was maybe 12, that one winter where Jack became leader because the previous leader of Manhattan gave all his earnings to the younger Newsies just to keep them alive._

_Brooklyn was a rougher neighborhood with a hell of a lot more kids. Death was more common there. Still, Spot probably hadn’t seen it up close since he was 19, and it hadn’t been someone as close to him as Hotshot for even longer than that._

_”Shit...” he mumbled, “Sometimes I forget you were the ‘Hattan leader, ‘cause you weren’t when I met you.”  
_

_Spot was definitely a bit drunk if he’d forgotten the 2 years where they’d had to do a long distance thing and barely ever got to see each other. It had been hard before, but they’d nearly broken up a couple times during those 2 years. Two leaders of different boroughs had a lot of responsibilities. And that wasn’t even taking into account that they had to sneak around._

_Race didn’t see why people cared. The world had bigger problems than boys who liked other boys. Keeping the secret was necessary, but he’d always wished it wasn’t._

_Of course, here, in an abandoned bar populated only by former Newsies, most of whom were boys who liked other boys, it was different. That was obvious in how Specs and Romeo were trading kisses in a corner and how Saz was curled up in a booth with her head in Kath’s lap._

_Hell, most of them were paired off, and Race would have been able to see who was with who even if he didn’t already know. There was just something different about the way Albert comforted Finch from how Henry was doing it._

_Race realized that everyone he loved was in this tiny, abandoned town. Everyone except Bluebird and Crutchie, who... oh, damn, someone was going to have to write to them and tell them the casualties._

_If Race couldn’t comfort anyone, he could at least do that, probably tomorrow morning._

_He realized he’d spent a long time in his thoughts without responding._

_”You wasn’t the King of Brooklyn when we met,” Race pointed out, “You remember that, right?”  
_

_Spot shrugged, “Does it matter? I was 13 when I became king. I met Hotshot after that.”_

_Oh, so that was what he was thinking about this for._

_”Hotshot never knew a Spot Conlon that wasn’t a leader,” Race realized, “Official or otherwise.”_

_Officially, in their unit, Davey was in charge._

_Unofficially, everyone knew he ran things with the help of Jack, Spot, and a couple other former leaders of other boroughs._

_Spot nodded slowly. Race could see the heartbreak in his face and knew he had to pull him out of it right now._

_”Sniper was 8 when she came to the ‘Hattan Lodging House,” Race recalled, “I remember it. Tiny kid, didn’t have anything but the clothes on her back and the bruises on her face. You know the first thing she did?—Demand that Jack cut her hair, cause she said it got in the way too much.”_

_Spot actually chuckled at that. A small success._

_”I was the one who did it,” he admitted, taking a shaky breath, “Jack didn’t trust himself to make it even, so he gave me the scissors. And back then, there was this one older kid—real annoyin’—who didn’t think girls should sell.”_

_Spot rolled his eyes, “I know the type.”_

_“He made a comment ‘bout Sniper not lookin’ pretty if she had me cut her hair,” Race remembered, “And she took those scissors and threw them across the room. They stuck in a bedpost ‘bout 2 inches from his face, and that glare she gave him told everyone she didn’t miss on accident.”_

_”Wish I coulda seen that.”_

_”Yeah, it was awesome. After that, this nice older boy called Snipeshooter grabbed the scissors, gave ‘em back to me, and told Sniper that if she’d have him, he’d be her mentor and show her the ropes of bein’ a Newsie. A couple months later, he aged out and left, but he gave her his slingshot. We called her Sniper ever since.”_

_The memory made Race want to cry a little, but he didn’t. Spot needed him to be strong right now._

_For a second, he kind of thought they were going to just drink in silence before Spot spoke._

_”Hotshot became a Newsie kinda late compared to a lot of us.”_

_Race waited for him to continue. He’d known Spot since before Hotshot came along, but he didn’t really remember the events of him coming along specifically._

_”He was 12. Even then, he was bigger and stronger than almost everyone else. I was 14 and annoyed that he was taller than me.”_

_”What? Ya weren’t used to it?”_

_Spot punched him in the arm, “Not back then—and not from a 12-year-old.”_

_“How much taller was he?”_

_”Not much, back then. An inch or two. He hit a big growth spurt when he was 15 and it annoyed the hell out of me.”_

_”Oh, I remember that. Please, continue.”_

_Spot took a deep breath and Race realized he was holding back tears._

_The former King of Brooklyn was breaking apart from this more than he would ever let anyone see.  
_

_”He was a rough kid. His home life wasn’t great before he ran away. I never asked. He only told me a little. I hadn’t been king a year and needed to establish my rep. He was angry all the time and I gave him somewhere to aim it. It worked out great. The problem was that he had so much anger that he would pick fights even when I didn’t need his help. He ran hot. That’s why we started callin’ him Hotshot.”  
_

_Race didn’t remember Hotshot being that angry. At least... not for a long time._

_”What cooled him down?”_

_Spot smiled sadly, “Ike.”  
_

_Race inhaled sharply. Back in the day, Ike had been able to make just about anybody laugh, and had flirted nearly as much as Romeo; with everyone._

_Which was why it was so surprising when Race ran into him in Brooklyn one night, maybe a year after the strike, and Ike admitted that he’d been exclusive with Spot’s second for months._

_And yeah, Race had noticed that Hotshot had started being less aggressive towards... well, everyone, but he’d somehow never made the connection between his thing with Ike and his change in attitude._

_”He was like a little brother to me.”_

_Hearing the tears in his voice, Race grabbed Spot’s hand and dragged him out the door, behind the building._

_”What are ya—“_

_”Go ahead,” Race said, trying not to cry, himself, “Let it all out where no one’ll see.”_

_Spot just stared at him for a second._

_Then he collapsed against the wall, sinking to the ground as he sobbed, pulling Race close._

_Race tried not to let him see that he was crying, too._

_..._

”Race. Hey, Race, are you okay?”

Race startled awake to realize that Romeo was shaking him, looking concerned.

He didn’t realize he was crying until he felt another tear run down his face.

”Race, what is it?”

Race tried to respond, but he was definitely crying too hard.

 _Damn_ , that dream had felt real.

“Come here...”

Race clung to his little brother, trying to pull himself together. He’d done this for Romeo a few times, but he’d always managed to keep his nightmares quiet before this.

”Racer, what’s wrong?”

”Bad dream,” he managed to choke out.

”Do ya want me to get Medda?”

Race shook his head rapidly.

”Jack or Crutchie?”

He hesitated, then shook his head again, “I need to call Sniper and Hotshot.”

”Um... why?”

”Just hand me the damn phone, Romeo!”

Romeo looked startled, and Race immediately felt bad for borderline yelling at him.

”I’m sorry. Just... just please hand me my phone.”

”It’s okay. Here.”

Romeo stuck close, one arm around Race as he wiped his eyes clear enough to see his contacts, scrolling down to Sniper, first.

The first call went to voicemail.

”No, no, no, no, no...”

Race swore as he called her again.

”Um... Race?” Romeo asked, “What’s this about?”

”Doesn’t matter.”

”Kinda looks like it does.”

It took a couple more tries before Sniper picked up.

**”Racetrack Higgins, it is 2:00 in the fuckin’ mornin’. If ya ain’t dyin’, you will be when I see ya next. And if ya are dyin’, what the fuck are you callin’ _me_ for?”**

Race sighed in relief. Despite clearly being annoyed, it was obviously Sniper’s voice. She was alive and safe and unhurt enough to be bitter at him.

**”I ain’t dyin’, Sniper. Sorry. Just needed to hear your voice.”**

There was a short pause, and Sniper’s voice was gentler when she spoke again.

**”Hey, what’s up? Ya sound like shit.”**

**”Feel kinda like shit,”** Race admitted **, “Bad dream. Needed to know you was okay.”**

 **“I’m fine,”** she said, sounding confused, **“Mom ain’t even had a panic ‘bout Dad breakin’ the restrainin’ order. Everything’s fine.”**

**”Yeah, okay, good to hear... um... I got somebody else I gotta call, okay?”  
**

**”Okay. And Racer... I won’t kill ya in the mornin’. You’s safe, for now.”**

**”Thanks, Sniper. Bye.”**

When Race hung up, Romeo was giving him a worried look.

”Somethin’ happened to Sniper in your dream?”

”You could say that,” Race muttered, scrolling up to Hotshot’s name.

As expected, he didn’t pick up the first time.

”Somethin’... bad?”

Race just tried to call Hotshot again.

”Race, did Sniper... _die_ , in your dream?”

The third time he tried, Hotshot picked up.

 **”Ugh. Race? The hell couldn’t wait ‘till before school?”** ****

**”Technically, it _is_ before school,” **Race deadpanned.

**”Ya know what I mean. What’s wrong?”**

Race decided that talking with a half-asleep Hotshot wouldn’t do him any good. The fact that he was hearing his voice, tired and annoyed and _alive_ , was enough.

**”Nothin’, Hotshot. Go back to sleep.”**

**”M’kay.”**

He was really out of it if he wasn’t asking more. Usually, Hotshot liked to get the whole story, but Race guessed that it _was_ the middle of the night.

Knowing that he and Sniper were alive was enough to make most of his panic go away.

”Race, what the hell did you dream about?”

Race sighed, “Nothin’, Ro. We have school in the mornin’. We should go back to sleep.”

”If you don’t tell me what this is about now, I’ll tell Jack and Crutchie ‘bout this in the mornin’. Okay? It is _just_ us. What the hell is goin’ on with you?”

Race groaned. He didn’t think he was going to be able to sleep again, but he didn’t want to cost Romeo a night of rest.

”It’s just bad dreams, Romeo. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

”Did Sniper and Hotshot die?” Romeo pressed, “That what got ya so freaked out?”

”If I say yes, will ya leave me alone about it?”

Romeo hesitated, then, “Yeah. For now.”

”Then, yes. Sniper and Hotshot got killed and the rest of us were mournin’ ‘em. And it _sucked_. I was tryin’ to put on a brave face for Smalls and Ike, but... but it still hurt, _so much_.”

”Did you just say they got killed? Cause ‘died’ and ‘got killed’ are two very different—“

”Ro. You said you’d leave it alone. Go back to sleep.”

Romeo sighed, but went back over to his bed.

Race definitely _did not_ sleep again that night.

...

No matter how hard they tried, Race wouldn’t let anyone squeeze him for details on that dream, even though everyone knew about it.

Romeo had told Jack and Crutchie, who told Albert in hopes he could get Race to talk about it. Albert told Finch, Finch told Henry, and so on.

Not to mention, Sniper told Smalls and Hotshot told Mike and Ike, so the story spread from 3 different points.

Naturally, Race was _thrilled_ that all his friends knew he was going off the deep end.

Even Davey and Sarah knew, and Race was sure the new girl, Katherine, knew, too, though he had yet to meet her. Apparently, she was lying to her parents about where she was going to be to even come to the sleepover, and couldn’t be seen hanging out with the group unless she wanted to get grounded.

As interesting as that was, Race was a bit preoccupied with his own problems, trying to convince his friends that, no, nothing was wrong, he just had a bad night and panicked over Sniper and Hotshot dying, a couple of friends he wasn’t even super close with.

Yeah... Race wouldn’t believe him, either.

At least Elmer had the decency not to bring up the whole conspiracy theory thing, about how if he was right, Race really had seen Sniper and Hotshot die.

Friday couldn’t possibly come fast enough.

Race still had bruises, and his concussion still wasn’t completely healed, but the doctor said that he was cleared for the sleepover _and_ fight club.

He wasn’t sure if the latter was a good thing yet, but he _was_ getting a fair amount of time alone with Spot Conlon, who was the _one person_ who hadn’t been walking on eggshells with Race all week.

Medda signed the waiver and bought him a mouth guard and Race was good to go.

Immediately, when the club advisor told them to split up for sparring, not giving them any instruction yet so he could get a feel for what fighting styles would work for each person, Spot grabbed Race and took him over to the edge of the room.

”You’ve never fought before, have ya?”

“Nope,” Race admitted.

Spot demonstrated, “Keep your hands up to protect your face.”

”I ain’t completely stupid,” Race complained, putting his hands up, “You gonna spar in that hoodie?”

Spot snuck a glance over at the other pairs, but seemed to judge them sufficiently far away.

When he pulled the hoodie off, revealing a red tank top underneath it, Race wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

Spot was just as muscular as it looked with the hoodie, but that wasn’t what caught Race’s attention.

That would be the small, circular burns up and down his forearms. Some were old, faded scars, but some... not so much. Some had bandaids over them, but there were enough uncovered for Race to see the extent of the damage.

”Spot—“

”When you called me that the first time, it felt familiar,” he muttered, not meeting Race’s eyes, “But at the same time, I thought it was ‘cause you saw this.”

“Who—“

”Unless you want me to put the hoodie back on, _drop it._ ”

Some of those burns had hoodie fuzz sticking to them. A few looked like a mild infection was already setting in. Putting the hoodie back on probably wouldn’t be good.

Race put his mouth guard in.

Spot didn’t put his in, not that Race thought he’d be able to hit him in the face if he tried.

”Punch at me.”

Race punched and Spot caught his fist, motioning for him to keep it extended while he checked his form.

”God, you’ve been punchin’ like this? No wonder you get your ass kicked. You keep swingin’ like that, they won’t have to break you—you’ll break your own wrist on the off chance you land a punch.”

Race tried not to tense up too much when Spot grabbed his hand, adjusting it so the back was parallel to the ceiling.

”Punch with only your first two knuckles,” he said, running two fingers from Race’s knuckles up his forearm, “And keep your wrist straight. That way, the force distributes to your arm easier. For the same reason, don’t lock your elbow or extend your arm all the way, and keep your shoulder down.”

Race really hoped Spot couldn’t tell how fast his heart was going as he continued to adjust his form.

Also, he really hoped he wasn’t blushing, no matter how hot his face felt.

Race stumbled a bit as Spot hooked his leg behind his to move his back foot back.

”Stronger stance means more power. And remember, ya want to maximize the force that goes into your opponent, minimize what goes into you.”

Race forced himself to breathe normally as Spot demonstrated a punch in slow motion.

”Rotate your hips. You punch with your whole body, you make the most of every hit. See?”

Race nodded, again, praying that his face wasn’t red.

Spot moved around in front of him, putting his arms up, but keeping his hands loose. Race tried not to stare at the burns.

”Punch at me again.”

Trying to remember everything he’d said, Race punched again, and this time, Spot batted it to the side with his forearm.

”That’s how you block effectively. None of that bullshit where you let them punch you in the forearm. Knock it away. Try it.”

Race could tell there wasn’t really any force behind his punch, but he still was struggling not to flinch as he managed to knock the hit away.

”Good,” Spot said, grabbing his mouth guard, “Now we can spar for real.”

He stuck to a slow pace, letting Race get more comfortable with punching and blocking. spent the whole sparring session teaching him, even though most of the others in the club seemed to have at least _some_ experience in martial arts and Race couldn’t put up a real fight against Spot if he tried.

A lot of the more advanced kids were using kicks, too, but Spot and Race stuck to punches, slowly speeding up, little by little.

When it was time to actually learn fighting stuff from the club advisor, Race was curious enough that he had to ask.

”Why are you helping me?”

Spot paused as he pulled his hoodie back on, leaving it unzipped and ignoring how sweaty he already was. He just shrugged.

”You don’t have to teach me to fight, so why?” Race pressed.

Spot shrugged again, “I don’t want to constantly call ambulances for you. If ya can hold your own in a fight for 2 minutes, it gives me or someone time to save your ass _before_ you get concussed.”

Maybe it was said concussion talking to make Race flirt at a time like this, but he smirked.

”Aw. So sweet of ya to care.”

”Even heartless bastards like me don’t like seein’ nice people get hurt.”

”I think you’s got a heart, no matter how many layers of badassery you’s hidin’ it under.”

”I take back the ‘nice‘ thing. You’re so fuckin’ annoying.”

“Yeah, but you ain’t punched me yet.”

”Jesus, Racer, you’s already got a concussion. You know what? The real reason I’m teachin’ ya to fight is so I can soak ya in a fair fight.”

Race blew him a kiss, “I look forward to that day.”

Spot rolled his eyes, but he was clearly fighting a smile, which Race counted as a triumph.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the reeeeeal angst. Sleepover time. Have fun, y’all. :)

Brown eyes, brown hair, and a red hoodie. That was all Race could see.

Then he hit the ground with a grunt of air being driven out of his lungs.

”Oh, shit. Are you okay, Race?”

Race knew that was the closest Spot would get to an apology, so he nodded, trying not to throw up on the mats. He probably wouldn’t be allowed to go to the sleepover if he threw up.

They were learning a technique for getting out of a hold if someone grabbed you from behind, and, practicing it, either Spot had gotten lost in some memory and forgotten it was Race, or he’d been too enthusiastic about trying it out. Either way, he’d elbowed Race in the sternum harder than necessary.

Hitting the ground wouldn’t have been a problem if Race wasn’t already healing from a concussion. He‘d taken harder hits in the last week alone. Hell, he’d taken harder hits when he and his brothers were just messing around, roughhousing.

Spot kneeled down next to him, anyway.

”You sure?”

No one else would read the concern in his voice. Race tried not to think about how weird it was that he could not because he’d known Spot a long time, but because he’d been dreaming about him since he was 10 and had been in a dream-relationship with him since he was 15.

”I’m okay. Just a little dizzy.”

”Think you can stand?” Spot asked, looking at the clock, “It’s about time to go to your dumb theatre club meeting.”

”Right!” Race remembered, “Uh, yeah. I thinks so.”

Spot offered a hand to pull him up, and Race tried not to be too flustered by that. After all, it wasn’t like it was anything more than platonic. They were starting to be friends, but that was _it_.

Unfortunately, Race’s body seemed to have other ideas as his mind went blank for a second and he damn near fainted, and would have fallen on his face if Spot didn’t catch him.

”Thanks.”

”You’re an idiot. Next time, tell me if you’s gonna fuckin’ faint on me.”

”I totally planned that,” Race said sarcastically, “Not tellin’ ya.”

”You little—“

”Race, are you okay?” the club advisor yelled.

Shit. That guy was supposed to be keeping an eye on Race to make sure he didn’t pass out or anything.

”I’m fine!” he called over.

Spot snorted and said quietly, ”That’s debatable.”

Race proved his point by pushing him away gently, demonstrating that he could stand on his own.

”Impressive. You gots the muscle control of a 1-year-old. Now prove you can walk.”

Race rolled his eyes and headed to the locker room to change.

...

As much as Race was itching to go grab Albert and gossip about everything that had gone down in fight club, he fought the urge and stuck with Spot as they walked over to the auditorium, where the rest of the group was waiting to be let in.

Remembering Spot’s scars, Race _knew_ how bad crowds could be for abused kids. _From experience._ And the theatre club wasn’t particularly large, as theatre clubs went, but it was definitely around 3 dozen kids.

3 dozen high-energy, talented kids who would be overwhelming to _anyone_ who wasn’t already used to their dynamic.

God, why had Race thought this would be a good idea again? He should have introduced the guys to Spot one at a time, letting him get familiar and comfortable with them separately before bringing him fully into the group.

Well, too late, now. The best he could do was hang towards the edge of the group, hoping the fellas would get the message to take it slow.

”So...”

”So?”

Spot didn’t seem as uncomfortable as Race was expecting. A bit confused, a little nervous, maybe, but... well, he was one of them. Race wasn’t the only one who found him familiar.

”Almost all of us are gay,” Race blurted, “Just thought you should know that.”

”You’s mentioned before,” Spot said, “I told you. I don’t care.”

Race wished he did. At least... in the way that he was like that, too, and...

”Spot.”

”Hotshot.”

Spot nodded to a hotheaded friend who Race actually wasn’t that close with, but was definitely part of the group.

Hotshot seemed to be making an effort to pretend like Race calling him crying in the middle of the night a few days ago had never happened.

Race was grateful for that. That conversation would be awkward when and if it happened. Just, ‘oh, by the way, I had a nightmare where you died and I had to comfort your boyfriend.’

”Hi,” Ike said awkwardly from under Hotshot’s arm.

”Oh!” Race stepped forward, “Ike, this is Spot. Spot, this is Ike. Don’t be alarmed if ya see another one of him runnin’ around—he has an identical twin we call Mike.”

”I probably won’t be able to tell you apart,” Spot admitted.

”I don’t mind,” Ike said, “Most people can’t at first. I mean, that’s what makes it fun.”

Hotshot rolled his eyes, smiling, “They absolutely will prank you if they get the chance.”

”Yup,” Ike said shamelessly.

”Want me to stick around?” Hotshot asked.

”Nah, go have fun. I got Race.”

”Okay. Don’t worry. I had trouble with the group at first. They’s all good.”

It was a little weird to see angry, anti-social Hotshot getting along with and trusting someone so quick.

It had taken Ike _months_ to earn enough trust for Hotshot to let down his guard even when they were alone, and longer for him to trust the entire group. The two had only gotten together over the last summer, after near a year and a half of Ike proving he wouldn’t hurt him.

Still, he was gravitating to Spot in a way he hadn’t done with the few new kids since him.

And Spot was full of scars and trauma he didn’t talk about.

Race knew Spot trusted _him_ at least a little, but there were still lines he couldn’t cross yet. They’d known each other almost 2 weeks now and he could tell Spot didn’t feel comfortable with even much talking, not that Race was blaming him.

Yet he seemed relaxed with Hotshot, like he already knew he was trustworthy.

Elmer’s theory was looking more and more plausible, with how two of the _least_ -trusting people Race knew clearly trusted each other, to some extent, after knowing each other only a short time.

Race quickly brushed off those thoughts as Jack, Crutchie, and Romeo came up.

Well... this could either end very badly or with another very strange friendship.

”I’m Romeo,” Romeo said, sticking his hand out, “Pleased to finally meet Race’s knight in shinin’ red hoodie.”

Spot didn’t shake Romeo’s hand.

”I’m sorry for him,” Jack said automatically, “Ro don’t think ‘fore he talks. I’m Jack. This is Crutchie. We’re Race’s adoptive brothers.”

Jack was totally flexing on purpose, trying to pull an ‘intimidating big bro’ card.

”Heard a lot about you,” Spot said, “Race talks a lot.”

Crutchie snorted, “Ain’t that the truth?”

Race punched him in the shoulder, “Ro talks more’n me.”

”Nah, he only wishes he did. As much as Ro tries, no one can out-‘annoying’ you.”

Romeo threw up his hands, “Well, _thanks_ , Crutch!”

”Anyway,” Jack said, steering away from an argument, “Pleased to meet ya, Spot. I’m club president. I makes sure everything runs smoothly around here.”

”Doesn’t matter to me,” Spot said, “I ain’t stickin’ around after tonight.”

Race’s chest twinged a little at that, but he tried not to let it show on his face.

Somehow, he doubted he succeeded.

”Okay,” Jack said, “Well, if ya change your mind, the door’s always open. Speakin’ of which, looks like our adult supervisor is here.”

Looking out over the crowd of friends as she approached, Medda raised an eyebrow.

”I’m seeing at least four new faces. How do you make friends this quickly, kids?”

”Afternoon, Medda,” Jack said, hugging her, “You know nobody can resist our charms.”

”Yeah,” Romeo agreed, “We’s good at makin’ friends!”

”Enemies, too,” she pointed out, “I swear, if it was one of this group who TP’d Mr. Wiesel’s lawn this morning, I’ll—“

“Someone TP’d Weasel?” Race asked, honestly feeling joy about that.

”It wasn’t you, was it?”

”Oh, never, Medda. But someone did?”

Seeing that her boys weren’t going to back off until they got the story, Medda chuckled under her breath.

”There was more toilet paper on that lawn than visible grass.”

” _Wicked_ ,” Jack said.

”He deserves it,” Romeo agreed.

“If I find out it was one of you kids or any of your friends, whoever’s responsible ain’t getting into any productions this year.”

”Weasel is our neighbor,” Race whispered, leaning over to Spot, “He’s a real asshole—almost ran over Romeo one time and didn’t even apologize for it.”

”Sounds like he deserved to get TP’d,” Spot observed.

”You don’t have to sweat it, Medda,” Jack assured her, “All the fellas were here all day and when I drove past his house this mornin’ it wasn’t TP’d.”

Only Jack would know for sure that none of their group was responsible. He was their leader, and everyone always let him know if they were going to be out sick or something. And considering there was enough of them that there was nearly always two or more of the group in a class, if someone was missing long enough to TP a house, it definitely would have gotten back to Jack.

“Heard he wouldn’t let Oscar and Morris come home after the stunt they pulled on Race—they’s probably the ones what done it.”

”It ain’t like he’s actually ashamed of what they did,” Crutchie muttered bitterly, “Just doesn’t want the cops comin’. I still think he deserved to get TP’d.”

“Are ya forgettin’ the time he shot Albert with a pellet gun?” Jack asked, “‘Course he deserved it.”

“I don’t care if he deserved it,” Medda said, “If one of you kids did it, you could get charged.”

”Well, we didn’t. We was all here all day.”

”Good. Who’s your new friend, here?”

Jack grinned, “Hold that thought.”

He ran off, only to come back a few seconds later, Davey, Sarah, and redhead girl Race didn’t recognize in tow.

Actually, he _did_ recognize her, the hazy memories of her face becoming clear.

_Well, hello, Katherine._

“Medda, this is Davey, Sarah, and Katherine,” Jack said proudly, “Guys, this is Miss Medda Larkin, the greatest director in high school theatre today. She’s also my foster mom.”

”Nice to meet ya, Miss Larkin,” Davey said politely.

”Thanks for havin’ us,” Sarah said.

Race noted with amusement that though he didn’t remember either of them having strong accents when he first met them, Sarah and Davey had obviously started to absorb things from the group.

”We’re always welcoming to new kids,” Medda said warmly.

”I’m new, too!”

Race realized that there was not only Davey and Sarah, but a miniature version of them, pushing his way to the front of the small group. The kid couldn’t be any older than 10.

”Our mom got a double shift at the hospital,” Davey explained quickly.

“And Dad doesn’t get off work until 8:00,” Sarah added, “We couldn’t get anyone else to watch him.”

Davey seemed fairly anxious about this, ”Jack said it’d be fine until Dad could come to pick him up, but—“

“Of course,” Medda said immediately, “Wouldn’t want you to miss this sleepover ‘cause of something you couldn’t control. Romeo, go warn the rest of your friends to keep their comments rated PG, will you?”

”Sure!” Romeo exclaimed, running off.

Medda bent down to the kid’s level, “What’s your name, kid?”

”Les. I’m 10. Almost.”

”Well, you can’t exactly be in my theatre club yet, but I’ll look forward to having you when you’re a bit older.”

Les beamed up at her and Jack ruffled his hair.

Race had to admit that the kid was seriously cute.

”Sorry, honey,” Medda said to Katherine, “What was your name again?”

“Katherine. I’ve heard a lot about you,” and by the tone of her (very familiar) voice, that was a good thing.

”I like these ones,” Medda said warmly, “Nice to meet you, too.”

”Oh, right,” Jack said hastily, “Kath, you ain’t met most of the fellas yet. Kath, these are my brothers, Crutchie, Race, and... oh, right. Romeo ran off. Anyway, Sarah, Davey, and Les are new to the group, like you, and so is—“

”Spot Conlon,” Spot interrupted, “I can introduce myself.”

”Well, it’s very nice to meet you, too,” Medda said, “And Jack, just so you know, there’s been some problems with the sound system I need to fix before they get worse. You’ll be doing a solo with the welcome speech this time.“

Jack nodded, “Okay.”

”You sure you’re okay with it?”

”Yeah.”

”Well, then, I think it’s about time we opened up the auditorium, don’t you kids?”

Romeo, having run back over, jumped on Jack’s back for an impromptu piggy back ride to follow her over to the doors. Davey and Sarah exchanged an excited look. Katherine set her shoulders in a determined kind of stance that un-tensed a little when Crutchie started a conversation with her.

Race hung back with Spot while most of the kids crowded around the doors with a rising, increasingly excited chant.

”Open it! Open it! Open it! OPEN IT!”

“Don’t worry,” Race tried to assure him, “I’s known most of these kids for years. None of ‘em will push ya if you don’t want ‘em to. Tonight will be fun.”

”Fun,” Spot muttered, “That’s one word for what this might be.”

As disappointed as he was that Spot wasn’t excited, Race couldn’t deny that there was a strange atmosphere to the air.

Something felt electric, like an explosion waiting to happen.

Race remembered once comparing his friend group to a puzzle where all the messy edges matched up.

Why did he feel like all the pieces were in place now?

Why did it feel so dangerous that they were?

...

_(A dream had years ago...)_

_”Ya got some nerve bein’ here.”_

_Race turned to the voice, which was coming from behind him._

_In the shadows of the stands at the Sheepshead Races, there was a boy, wearing Brooklyn’s signature red and a scowl aimed at Race._

_Race wasn’t super afraid. He was only 11, young enough that the cute factor could usually get him out of a soaking, and plus, this kid was even smaller than him. He looked vaguely familiar._

_Of course, being close friends with Jack Kelly, who was practically like a son to Waffles, Manhattan’s leader, Race had met plenty of Newsies from other boroughs. He’d tagged along when Waffles had gone to negotiate his way out of disagreements before, a few of which had been in Brooklyn._

_“I don’t remember your name,” Race said._

_”Spot,” the kid said, “The hell are you doin’ here?”_

_”Ain’t you gonna ask mine?”_

_”Your what?”_

_”My name.”_

_”Don’t care what your name is,” Spot said simply, “Just what you’s doin’ in Brooklyn when you ain’t Brooklyn.”_

_”Well, the name’s Race,” Race said, “And I’m here ‘cause I come here every day.”_

_Spot looked momentarily confused, then schooled his features back to anger._

_”That can’t be true. Someone woulda caught ya by now.”_

_“Someone did. She thought I was cute, so’s she said long as I keep my head down I can sell here. By the way...” Race looked around, “Where_ is _Palomino? She’s covered Sheepshead since forever and never misses a day.”  
_

_Spot looked hard at the ground, but he couldn’t hide the pain on his face._

_”’Mino’s dead.”_

_”What?!”_

_Race wanted to say that it wasn’t possible. That Palomino Cooper was too tough and nothing could kill her._

_Except something obviously could._

_”She refused to pay the tax for sellin’ in Brooklyn,” Spot said, “So’s Joe soaked her and kicked her out of the Lodging House. We found her this mornin’. Somebody slashed her up.”_

_Of fucking course. The only person who could kill someone like Palomino was Joe fucking Harris, the King of Brooklyn.  
_

_Palomino was like a big sister to Race. She’d taught him to fight and to blend into a crowd so well anyone chasing you never caught you. She’d tried to teach Race how to make the most out of bets and selling and go home with a little extra dough, though he hadn’t mastered that one yet._

_Even as tough as Joe Harris was, it was impossible to process that Palomino was gone and he was responsible for it._

_“Was it quick?” Race asked, not knowing what else there was to say._

_Spot shrugged, “Whoever it was cut her throat, but we can’t tell how much of the damage was before that.”  
_

_Seeing the numb look in his eyes, Race wondered how many Brooklyn kids had already died like this, needlessly, just for daring to defy the king’s unfair rules._

_Palomino had told Race so many times that she hated him and every reason why. It wasn’t surprising she’d finally gone and tried to do something about it.  
_

_And it had cost her her life._

_”Joe sent me here to cover her territory,” Spot said, “Said a little would be able to make the most of Sheepshead.”_

_Race was skeptical about that. Even if he was short, he doubted this kid was young enough to really be considered a little._

_”How old are you?”_

_”12.”_

_That was surprising. Race hadn’t expected him to be older than he was, even if he wasn’t a little._

_”Well, I’m 11,” Race said, “And you can pass for 11. And I do pretty okay here, so you’ll probably make plenty.”_

_”_ Did _okay here,” Spot corrected, “You ain’t Brooklyn. Only Brooklyn gets to sell here, so beat it.”_

_“Palomino let me stay.”_

_”I ain’t Palomino.”_

_Race could see something in this kid’s eyes he recognized. He saw someone who was tired of violence, but had accepted it as a fact of life.  
_

_He didn’t think Spot would hurt him unless he had to._

_”I bet two poor, sick orphans can make more than one,” he offered._

_Spot smirked. Race counted it as a victory._

_”Probably,” he reasoned, “But I could go find another Brooklyn boy to be my partner.“_

_”But a Brooklyn boy wouldn’t come with disobeyin’ Joe.”_

_”Exactly._

_Race took a step forward, leaning in conspiratorially._

_His voice sounded sadder than he meant it to when he spoke._

_“If what you says he did is true... do ya really want to follow his orders?”_

_Spot was silent and still, then picked up his papes, nodding towards the area Race usually sold with Palomino._

_”So, we’s partners, then?” he asked with a smirk._

_Spot rolled his eyes, “I could still turn ya in to Joe tomorrow.”_

_He could, but then he never did._

_..._

”I’d like to welcome each and every one of you to the first theatre club meeting of the year!”

Everyone cheered for Jack as he made his usual ‘president’ speech on the stage.

”We have 4 new faces this year—Davey, Sarah, Katherine, and Spot. Oh, and Les is new, too, but he ain’t stayin’ overnight. So be nice to ‘em! And no wakin’ ‘em up to a bucket of ice water this time! I am lookin’ at you, Albert and Henry!”

Albert stuck out his tongue. Henry booed.

“Do it and I ain’t helpin’ you clean it up this time. Anyway, there’s a sheet of paper on the door, so anyone new or with new phones or somethin’, write your name and information. But be warned: if ya put a phone number, you will be added to the group chat, and the only thing I can say about that is: good luck. Anyone who gives an email will get stuff ‘bout auditions and the like, but also a few random ones on account of Crutchie, Racer, and Romeo hackin’ my email account.”

”You know ya love us, Jackie!” Romeo yelled.

”You’re absolutely right—I just don’t love when you hack my email!”

Everyone laughed, and Race was happy to see that even Spot cracked a smile.

”Anyway,” Jack said, “Today, we’ll be beginnin’ the process of pickin’ our Spring and Fall musicals, but we won’t have a list to vote on till next week. For now, there’s a clipboard bein’ passed around—“

”Over here!” Tommy Boy hollered, waving a bright pink clipboard with a few pieces of paper on it.

”Thanks, Tommy!” Jack called, “But anyway, write down a couple musical options you want and we’ll review them. And don’t be stupid. If ya write somethin’ that the rights ain’t out yet, we can’t do it, anyway, so what’s the point, _Ike_?”

”The point is it’s funny!”

“No, it ain’t! Why would that be—“

Jack took a deep breath, chuckling.

”You all are going to be the death of me, you know that? Anyway, for now, socialize, get to know the new kids, whatever. _Don’t_ smother said new kids. Most of you’s have done this before. Anyway, we’ll start for real once the clipboard gets all the way around the room.”

Immediately, the room was in motion.

Jack jumped off the stage, landing like a rock and moving like his feet hurt as Davey asked if he was okay. Sarah and Katherine booked it over to the contact info sheet, but judging by the way they were talking, they were hitting it off.

Interestingly, Jojo was also headed for the contact info sheet. His parents had never let him get a phone before. Race wondered if it would make it easier or harder for him and Mike to sneak around.

He turned to Spot, “You gonna put your name up?”

Spot shrugged, “What’s the point? I don’t want a club I ain’t in textin’ me.”

Race bit his lip to stop himself from making some kind of cocky comment. It was subtle, and didn’t show in his face, but the tension in his shoulders told him how uncomfortable Spot actually was, being in a loud room with a ton of rowdy theatre kids.

”Hey!”

Albert was climbing over the row of seats in front of them to get to Race, ruffling his hair in greeting. Finch wasn’t far behind with a fist-bump.

“Nice to see ya from closer than across the room,” Race’s best friend said to Spot, “I’m Albert. This is my boyfriend, Finch.”

”I know.”

There was a couple seconds where none of them spoke.

”So, how was fight club?” Albert asked.

“Good,” Race said, “I learned to punch correctly.”

Spot snorted, “You can throw one punch. Congratulations.”

”Well, that’s more than he could throw before,” Finch reasoned.

Albert shrugged, “He’ll still be dead if the Delanceys come out swingin’ again.”

“Well, then ya won’t have to put up with me anymore,” Race pointed out.

”True. Don’t worry, though. I’d still cry at your funeral.”

Race nodded solemnly, “And if you go before me, I promise to cry at yours.”

“Aw. I feel better about my potential death already.”

”Are they always like this?” Spot asked.

Finch nodded, “You get used to it or ya leave.”

”You love to pretend I’d let ya leave,” Albert said.

”Good thing I don’t want to, then.”

”God, we get it,” Race said, rolling his eyes, “You two are adorable. Go find a dark corner to make out in, already.”

”You should know better than to think I’d leave ya like that.”

Finch punched Race’s arm, “Sorry, pal. You’s the one who made a blood pact with him, not me, and we come as a package deal now.”

Spot raised an eyebrow, “Blood pact?”

”Wanna tell the story, or should I?” Albert asked.

”I got it,” Race groaned, “You really wanna know, Spot?”

”Sure. Might be interestin’.”

“It was this dumb thing Albie and I did in 7th grade. We made a blood pact to be best friends forever. Medda yelled at us when she found out, but neither of us died, so...”

”As far as you know,” Albert corrected, “I could be a ghost.”

Race pretended to be pondering it, “Hmm... how to prove my best friend isn’t a ghost...”

”You could stab him,” Spot suggested, “If he dies, he wasn’t already dead.”

Race didn’t know what to think of that until he saw the slight smile on the shorter boy’s face.

”You got a knife for me?” he asked sweetly, “Cause, sorry, but normal people don’t carry those around.”

Spot shrugged, “Then I guess my cover as a non-normal person is blown.”

His smile definitely wasn’t as big as the grin on Race’s face, but it was there.

“Need me to tell ya where to find a dark corner?” Albert teased, leaning into Race’s personal space and shattering the moment.

Race shoved his friend away by his forehead, “Finch, please come collect your idiot in aisle 3.”

”Sorry, pal, we’re both stuck with him.”

Finch simply sat down in a seat a couple away from Spot, leaving the two in between them for Albert and Race.

”You enable too many middle school bad decisions.”

Finch just shrugged, not seeming apologetic at all.

...

_((A dream had years ago.))_

_Sitting under the stands after selling time had become something of a tradition._

_Race had been selling in Sheepshead for almost a year with Spot instead of Palomino. They were both outgrowing their cuteness a little, so it was getting harder. Sometimes, bringing Spot’s little friend, Bluebird, helped, but they always had to keep an eye on her to keep her safe, so usually, her cuteness factor wasn’t worth the risk for the few extra cents it made them._

_Remembering what happened to ‘Mino, Race was more worried about Spot than he was about himself._ _They’d never be normal friends, but they cared about each other, even if they never said it outright._

_Joe taxed the Brooklyn kids randomly, just taking whatever he thought was fair for them to owe. For someone like Spot, who sold at a location that was always hot, that was a not-insignificant sum._

_That was why Race always tried to give him more than was technically his share of whatever they made._

_”Race,” Spot said sharply, “Stop. I don’t need your help.”_

_Shit. He noticed._

_”Ya think I don’t notice what he does to kids who don’t have enough? I don’t want that to be you.”_

_Spot shook his head, “It don’t matter. You need the money bad as I do.”_

_“Waffles don’t tax us for no reason,” Race pointed out, “Spot, I can get by with a bit less. You can’t afford to not make quota.”_

_”It doesn’t. matter.”_

_There was something in his voice that caught Race._

_He was hiding something. Race had gotten good enough at reading him to know that._

_And Spot had gotten good enough at reading him to know that he knew._

_Spot sighed, “Look, Racer... Joe ain’t gonna be a problem for me much longer. You understand?”  
_

_Race did understand, and the implication horrified him.  
_

_”Spot, if you lose—“_

_”I won’t,” he said tightly, “And if I do, I’ll be too dead to care, so...“  
_

_”Don’t do it,” Race insisted, “You’re 13. He’s near 20. And kings don’t last that long, so sooner or later someone else will come, and—“  
_

_”And they might be just as bad or worse,” Spot interrupted, “Just like all the ones before him I can remember.”_

_”Spot—“_

_”He hit Scarf yesterday.”_

_Race shut up._

_Scarf wasn’t even fully one of Joe’s. He was a Brooklyn Newsie, sure, but he still lived with his father. He never stayed in the Lodging House.  
_

_And Scarf was 7, for fuck’s sake._

_”Scarf didn’t meet quota,” Spot said, his calm tone not betraying his anger, “He’s never missed before, and he’s still a little, so Joe cut him a little slack, but he still hit him so hard he nearly knocked him out. He’s gettin’ worse, Race. So much worse. He stays much longer, a lot of Brooklyn boys ain’t gonna survive the winter.”_

_“And if you challenge him, ya might not survive the night,” Race pressed, “You_ know _how Brooklyn kings are crowned.”_

_The tight smile Spot gave him meant that he did know. He knew, and he didn’t like it, but he was willing to pay that price, anyway._

_The fight would be to the death. If Spot won, things might get better. If he lost, they could get a hell of a lot worse._

_”Don’t come to Sheepshead tomorrow,” he said calmly, “Sell in ‘Hattan for the day. I’ll come see ya after sellin’ time, assumin’ all goes well.”_

_”Assumin’ you’s still alive,” Race snapped._

_Spot didn’t deny it, but..._

_Race could see the fear he was trying to hide. He didn’t want to do this. He wasn’t sure he could win. He’d prefer to wait a couple more years to challenge for king._

_But he’d held out as long as he could. He’d waited longer, probably, than he should. He’d waited even as kids kept getting hurt._

_Neither of them knew for sure if he could beat Joe._

_But they both knew that a lot of kids would starve or freeze if he didn’t try.  
_

_The sun was going down. It would be time for them both to go back to their respective Lodging Houses soon._

_Race sighed, “I don’t suppose I can convince ya to grab Blue and Scarf and come with me back to Manhattan.”_

_Spot shook his head, “Brooklyn is my home. And not everyone can run to ‘Hattan. I’m fightin’ for those that can’t.”_

_”And ya wouldn’t run, anyway, even if everyone could. It’s not who you are.”_

_Spot didn’t deny it. He just took a deep breath._

_”I have to do this, Race.”_

_Race nodded, “I know. Just had to try to convince ya, anyway.”_

_Spot looked a bit surprised at that as they both stood up._

_The sun was far enough down that they both probably should have started heading back a while ago._

_”I know ya need to fight,” Race said, “So fight your hardest. And goddamnit, Conlon, you better win.”_

_Spot smiled a little, more genuine than before, “I’ll try my damn best.”  
_

_Race hesitated before going in for a spit shake. This felt more personal than the kind of deal making a spit shake usually meant, but he knew Spot probably wouldn’t go for more than that._

_The shorter boy spat into his hand and shook Race’s._

_Then he tugged him forward, wrapping his other arm around Race’s shoulders as he did._

_Race was completely shocked, but he returned the hug, anyway._

_”Stay in ‘Hattan tomorrow,” Spot whispered, “Promise me.”_

_”Bring me the good news of Brooklyn’s new king,” Race countered._

_”Deal. I’ll meet ya on your side of the bridge.”_

_When they pulled apart, they still just stood there, staring at each other, for a second._

_”In case things don’t go well...” Spot shrugged, feigning nonchalance._

_Only Race would noticed how his shoulders shook a little._

_”You’s my best friend. Just thought you should know.”_

_Race nodded, “You’s mine, too. And I don’t want to lose ya, so... fight good enough so I won’t.”_

_Spot simply saluted with two fingers, turning around to walk back to the Brooklyn Lodging House._

_The next day, all the boroughs were buzzing with the news of Brooklyn’s new king, but Race didn’t let himself think about it until he saw a short boy in a red shirt waiting for him by the Brooklyn Bridge._

_..._

Ice breakers were kind of fun in that they had to come up with new ones every year, so that it wouldn’t get too boring for those that had been there for years.

This year, it was that each person had to say their full name (or nickname, if that made them feel more comfortable), their favorite color, and ask the weirdest question they could think of, of course keeping everything PG because of the present company.

They were all sitting in a giant circle on the stage. This should be interesting.

”Alright,” Jack said to start off, “So, my name is Jack Kelly, my favorite color is blue, and... what is all you’s second-least-favorite smell? Mine is cigarette smoke. Davey?”

”Uh...” Davey, being on Jack’s right side, had to answer first.

Race was lucky to be second-to-last, so he got some time to think about this one.

”I guess... dog poop?”

”Alright,” Jack said, “Sarah?”

”Nail polish. No question.”

”Vinegar!” Les answered confidently, “But the worst is David’s farts!”

”Hey!”

Everyone laughed. Race loved little kids. They were a riot.

They went around, some legitimately thinking about it, some clearly bullshitting whatever popped into their heads. It was about as normal as this group ever got. Race learned that Spot’s second-least-favorite smell was farts.

When they got done with that one, Davey said, “My name is David—Davey—Jacobs and my favorite color is also blue. Um... In your opinion, what is the worst crayon color and why?”

”Oh, good one,” Jack muttered, “I happens to know plenty of crayon colors, so I’ll need to think about this one. Wait to dig deep, Davey.”

”Salmon,” Sarah said immediately, “It’s not even a color. It’s just what people say when they don’t want to say orangish-pink.”

”Gray,” Les said, “It’s boring.”

”I’m going to have to go with neon orange,” Katherine answered, “It’s obnoxious to me.”

Spot thought peach was the worst crayon color because peaches weren’t even that color.

They went around like that, from Sarah to Les to Katherine to Romeo and so on, all of them asking weird, but appropriate questions.

Of course, when it got to Albert, Race was fully expecting him to try to make things weird in a subtle enough way that it would go over Les’s head.

Finch and Mike, on either side of him, seemed to be expecting the same thing, judging by the looks on their faces.

”Name’s Albert Dasilvia, favorite color is green, and... answer in as few words as possible, but what’s your favorite thing ‘bout your partner?”

Race knew he only asked that because it was as close as he could get to asking what their turn-ons were while keeping a PG rating.

Yeah, some of their group were real mature like that. Several of them had also caught on to what Albert actually meant and were laughing.

”Not all of us have partners,” Jack pointed out, “Ask a different one, Albie.”

Albert shrugged, “Just pick someone. And for those who have crushes and ain’t admitted it yet, literally everyone knows already cause we alls can read each other and also just ain’t blind, so just answer ‘bout your crush.”

Race really hoped he wasn’t blushing as much as Jack and Davey definitely were.

”Uh...” Mike snuck a glance at Jojo, “Stubbornness.”

Jojo laughed, “Wow. Thanks.”

”You don’t give up. I likes that.”

”In that case,” Jojo smiled at him, “Fearlessness.”

”Aw,” Romeo said, “What do we even watch romcoms for? This is so much better!”

Les didn’t seem to agree, making a face like all of this was disgustingly gross to him.

”Shut up, Ro,” Jack said, “Buttons?”

”I don’t have a partner.”

”Neither does Elmer and he’s sitting next to ya.”

...was Elmer keeping his expression so blank on purpose as if they wouldn’t notice how red his face was?

Race remembered him saying he had a crush on someone, but never knew if it was requited.

Buttons was cute, he guessed. He wasn’t really Race’s type, but he could kind of see the appeal. It was kind of fitting that sweet, friendly Elmer would crush on someone just as selfless and kind.

”I guess... I like that he respects everyone?”

Elmer shrugged, though the nonchalance wasn’t convincing at all.

”His resilience.”

Admittedly, this was a question with interesting answers.

Mush liked Blink’s bravery.

Blink liked Mush’s kindness.

Sniper liked Smalls’s humor.

Smalls liked Sniper’s fighting skill.

Ike liked Hotshot’s soft side.

Hotshot liked Ike’s carefree attitude.

Honestly, Race thought that Spot was going to refuse to answer this one, so he wasn’t expecting anything.

Then Spot shrugged, casting a glance at him.

”I like that you’s is honest.”

Race stared at him for an awkward amount of time before Crutchie nudged him, smirking in a way that made Race want to punch his brother in the face.

”Um... your strength. Inside and out.”

Race could feel shit-eating grins from all around the circle. This was going to be a _real_ fun night, and they hadn’t even gotten to the real sleepover yet.

He forced himself to focus on everybody else’s answers

Jack liked Davey’s smarts and Davey liked Jack’s optimism.

Sarah liked Katherine’s courage and Kath liked Sarah’s sarcasm.

Romeo liked Specs’s patience and Specs liked Romeo’s way of making everyone laugh.

Finch liked Albert’s confidence and Albert, answering his own question last, answered that he liked Finch’s ability to put up with his bullsh... poop.

Everyone else kind of just made up awkward answers about their friends, but it was obvious that nobody else had the raw sexual tension of the pairs that actually did or _should_ have something going on.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Mike cleared his throat.

”I’m Mike Guzman, I like dark blue, and in all you’s opinions, is it acceptable to murder someone to avenge a loved one?”

...

_((A dream had only a year ago.))_

_”You’s never had a problem with it before, so what the hell changed?”_

_”I don’t gotta explain everythin’ to you!”_

_”Not everything, no, but this? You not lettin’ your best friend sell in your territory anymore after never havin’ a problem with it before? Yeah—I think that deserves a explanation!”_

_Spot gave Race a shove, putting almost enough force behind it for it to actually be considered a hit._

_”If ya must know, Bart heard rumors of some boys thinkin’ of challengin’ me!”_

_Race shoved him back, ”And that warrants ya kickin’ out one of the only people ya know for sure you can trust?”  
_

_Spot scoffed, “You’re a Manhattan boy. Why the hell do you care so much?”_

_“Cause you’re my best—“_

_”Stop with that bullshit!”_

_Spot shoved him even harder this time, and Race stopped himself from outright swinging a fist._

_”So when you’s called me your best friend, you was just makin’ that up?”_

_”I never said—“_

_”That’s what you’s sayin’ right now!”_

_”I ain’t sold at Sheepshead near 3 years, now, Race! We only see each other for a few minutes every day! I forgot how much of a pain in my ass you are!”_

_”Oh, I’m a pain in your—“_

_”I can’t afford to look soft right now!” Spot shouted, “God, Racer! I ain’t sayin’ you should stay away forever, so why are ya makin’ such a big deal out of it?”_

_”You need all the friends you can get!”_

_”Not Manhattan friends!”_

_”Why can’t ya just accept that sometimes borders don’t matter so much?” Race asked desperately, “Spot, if somethin’ happened to you—“_

_”It’d be your fault for makin’ me look soft!”_

_Spot shoved him up against the wall, keeping one forearm braced against Race’s chest to keep him there as he yelled in his face._

_”Goddammit, Race! Like it or not, any threat to me is a threat to people I care about, too! And I can’t keep Hotshot, or Blue, or Scarf out of it, but you? I can get out_ you _of the danger zone, so you can bet your ass I’m going to keep ya as far away from this as possible!”_

_”Spot—“_

_”Don’t you get it?” Spot shouted, sounding broken and strong all at once, “You are my biggest weakness!”_

_Race couldn’t think of a good response for that._

_The only response he could find was to grab Spot’s face, digging his fingers into his hair as he kissed him desperately._

_Then Spot wrapped his arms around Race’s neck and kissed him back._

_At 15, Race had kissed a few people. A girl who performed for Miss Medda, behind the theatre, before he figured out that he didn’t want that kind of thing. A bike messenger boy in an alleyway who assured him that liking boys was nothing to be ashamed of. Albert, once, on a fire escape, though it had felt wrong the second he did it._

_Spot didn’t feel like he knew what he was doing. Being king, he probably had never had time to experiment with this kind of thing, especially not with a boy._

_And yet kissing him felt better and more right than anything Race had ever tried._

_After more carefree seconds than Race would admit, Spot pulled back suddenly, breathing heavily. His hands were shaking as he took them out of Race’s hair and stepped a few paces back._

_Race took a deep breath, “Spot—“_

_”Stay away,” Spot interrupted quietly, “Sell in ‘Hattan for a few days. Please. Just ‘till I deal with this. I’ll send Bluebird to let ya know when it’s safe. Just... please go, Race.”_

_Race wanted to do anything but go. It felt like they had a lot to talk about and clear up, and he definitely didn’t want to leave when some traitor could come in at any minute and end everything._

_But he had never seen Spot so uncertain, so vulnerable, all because of him._

_He wasn’t telling Race to leave anymore. He was_ asking _him to as an equal._

_”Okay,” he said finally, “Okay, I’ll stay away. Just... win this fight, okay?”_

_Spot laughed quietly, ”Don’t I always?”  
_

_Race sighed, “I hope so.”_

_He felt like he should say more, even if he didn’t really know what specifically was needed._

_”Don’t bother sendin’ someone until you’re ready to talk.”_

_Well, it probably wasn’t that._

_Still, Race walked home._

_Spot didn’t send Bluebird over to get him until 2 weeks later._

_She told Race to meet him on the docks after dark._

_..._

Acting games always got fun. Not everyone had to or even wanted to participate the first day, but watching was just as fun, so that was never an issue.

They started out playing ‘Park Bench.’

Basically, 2 people sat down and whoever could make the other person break whatever character first won.

Also, you had to stick to one character the whole time, so it definitely could get weird.

Elmer and Jojo sat down first.

”This’ll be fun,” Race said, elbowing Spot gently from where they were watching, “You’ll see.”

Spot shrugged in response, but he did seem a little curious, after Jack’s explanation of how the game worked.

Elmer immediately started rattling off rapid fire, angry-sounding Polish.

Everyone started laughing. They all knew that Elmer spoke Polish, of course, but Race kind of doubted he was physically capable of saying anything mean, so he was probably just angrily reciting a spaghetti recipe or something.

”Well,” Jojo said, when he got a second to get a word in, “Okay. Hey, sir, I was wondering if you have a moment to ‘bout our lord and savior, Jesus Christ?”

Elmer tried to save face, stammering out a couple more words in Polish before breaking out laughing, “I tried. I’m sorry. I can’t. Good one, Jojo.”

”Great try, Elmer!” Jack called, “Specs, you’re up!”

”I don’t get it!” Les complained. Next to him, Davey said that he could explain.

Before Jojo said anything, Specs was already smiling creepily.

”You’ve got nice skin. Can I have some?”

Jojo stared at him for a second, looking mildly threatened, before silently standing up and walking away.

”That’s my boyfriend!” Romeo yelled from near the back of the line.

”We all knows that!” Crutchie called back as Specs waved back towards Ro.

Mike had decided not to play, and as soon as Jojo was off the stage, he pulled him down into the seat next to him for a kiss.

On the stage, Smalls straight up just sat down on Specs’s lap, smiling at him.

”Hi.”

Specs held on to his character, “I bet you would look nice as a piñata.”

”That’s so nice of you to say!” Smalls exclaimed, and Race noticed she was using an annoyingly high-pitched voice.

”Nice glasses!” she said, “I’ve never seen someone wear a hat with glasses before! Well, actually, that’s a lie. I’ve seen people wear glasses and a hat plenty of times. I like hats. Do you like hats? Of course you do. You’re wearing one!”

Smalls proceeded to continue rambling in a super high-pitched voice until Specs threw up his hands, clearly giving up.

”Get off me, Smalls! You win!”

She grinned, moving onto the actual bench to let Specs go off stage.

Smalls actually managed to hold on to the bench for a couple more turns before Tommy Boy freaked her out by going into a bridge and running at her upside down on all fours.

”That ain’t fair,” Race groaned, “I did that move last year! He copied me!”

”You can run in a bridge?” Spot asked.

“‘Course. Tumblin’ moves make choreography more excitin’. And I can definitely come up with something that could freak even Tommy out.”

“Prove it.”

”You want me to go up there?”

Spot gestured to the aisle, where Race could leave his seat to go to the line.

Race grinned, “Seriously?”

”Impress me. Actin’, tumblin’... whatever you do.”

Race tipped his hat, ”Gladly.”

It took a while for him to get to the front of the line, but when he did, Kath was on the bench, and had held it for the last 2 turns. Not bad, especially for a new kid.

Race did a cartwheel and purposely landed on his butt in front of her.

“Hi!” he exclaimed.

Katherine got up and started flapping her arms at him, cawing like a bird and getting all up in his personal space. This was how she’d gotten Davey and Sniper to fold.

Oh, two could play at this game.

Race jumped up on top of the bench to get a bit of space and did a dive roll, landing on one knee in front of her.

Kath cocked her head to the side, her movements sharp and bird-like, cawing at him. She poked him shoulder, one of her hands acting as a pretend beak.

The next time she did it, Race grabbed her hand.

She was so surprised that she forgot to try to pull it back, but Race didn’t give her a chance to recover.

”Katherine, you’s the most beautiful bird I ever seen. And not only that—you’s brave, and smart, and kind. I want to spend the rest of my life with you! Will you marry me?”

Katherine cawed half-heartedly, clearly fighting to keep from breaking character.

“I’ll make a super rad cloak out of your feathers,” Race offered.

Kath laughed a very human laugh, already heading off-stage as she struggled to contain her glee.

Race stood up and bowed dramatically before sitting down on the bench.

He managed to last six turns; longer than anyone so far, dramatically professing his love and proposing to several of his friends.

Then Jack did a super over the top stereotypical mobster impression, actually _accepting_ Race’s proposal, with a ‘bada-bing, bada-boom, I guess we’re gettin’ married, bub.’

That was when Race broke, but he wasn’t all that upset about it. Nobody could ever beat Jack at this kind of thing.

”Impressive,” Spot admitted as he sat back down.

Race mock-gasped, “Did you just compliment me?”

”Don’t get used to it. You’s a good actor. All I did was state a fact.”

”A fact that happens to be a very nice thing to say.”

”Well, not everyone can come up with unique ways to propose to six people.”

”I could come up with one for every person in this room.”

”Why would ya, though?”

”Good point. There’s really only one person I might want to do it seriously for.”

_Oh, shit._

Race realized what he said too late to take it back.

He just looked away and hoped Spot didn’t catch on to what he’d meant.

...

_Race wasn’t nervous about going to see Spot by the docks._

_If he was nervous, that would imply that the kiss meant something._

_The kiss. Their kiss. God, Race had been thinking about it way too much._

_But it was a one-time thing. It had to be. There was no way Spot wanted to make out with him again. Race was not the kind of person that the King of Brooklyn could have feelings for beyond just a friendship._

_And Race didn’t fall for people who had zero chance of liking him back. He didn’t dwell on one stupid kiss thinking about how much he wanted to do it again. That was just a stupidass move._

_So, he wasn’t nervous, because their kiss didn’t mean anything._

_He was worried, because he knew that whoever could have Spot so on-edge wouldn’t go down easy. He could be hurt._

_He was confused, because he didn’t really know where Spot stood. Was he mad? Had their friendship been ruined? Were they even still friends?_

_Maybe he was a little nervous, but only because he wanted to keep his friend and was scared to lose him._

_It wasn’t hard to find him, sitting on the edge of the dock in an area mostly surrounded by shipping containers so they’d have a bit of privacy to talk alone._

_He was just staring down at the water, and Race wasn’t sure he had even noticed someone was behind him yet._

_He walked loudly on purpose, sitting down next to him, but not knowing what to say._

_It was weird to be the one who didn’t know what to talk about._

_”Are you okay?” Spot asked finally._

_Race nodded, “Why wouldn’t I be?”_

_He just shrugged._

_Spot had said that Race was his biggest weakness. Being the paranoid kind who could stay King of Brooklyn for nearly 3 years, now, he guessed that he’d feared someone had figured that out._

_”Are_ you _okay?” he countered._

_“Broken rib. Nothin’ serious.”_

_”A broken rib is nothin’ serious?!”_

_Spot looked at him for the first time, and Race saw that he had a black eye, and now that he was looking for damage..._

_Spot’s hands were covered in bruises, a few more on his arms. There would probably be more under his shirt._

_Race had seen him hurt before, but never this bad._

_”Spot...”_

_”Race,” he said, “I’ll be fine. I’ve survived worse than a couple of overconfident assholes who want to play at leadin’.”_

_”Who was it?”_

_Spot shook his head, “Race...”_

_”Who was it?”_

_Race meant to yell, but he couldn’t raise_ _his voice to more than a tone that was barely over a whisper.  
_

_Spot sighed, then grimaced like that hurt, “I don’t want to talk about it.”_

_Race really didn’t want to let this go, but he did, anyway. He wasn’t the one who had a reason to feel uncomfortable, here._

_Well, he had less of a reason, anyway._

_Still, the sounds of the water moving was too quiet for Race. He had to fill the silence somehow, or it would drive him insane._

_So, he talked about what had been going on in Manhattan. He told Spot about the latest gossip, of Romeo’s latest failed flirtations, of Jojo learning slowly but surely to loosen up, of Albert managing to get away with not actually paying for his papes by tricking Wiesel into thinking he did. He told him about the twins switching hats to mess with everyone and Blink being a sarcastic asshole to everybody except Mush. Just random topics that bounced off the wall, neither of them really paying attention to what was said._

_”Race,” Spot said, after a good twenty minutes of this, sounding like his usual, annoyed self, like how he always was when Race got like this._

_”Yeah?”_

_”Shut up.”_

_”Oh yeah? Make me,” Race joked._

_The look on Spot’s face when he glanced over was anything but joking._

_It wasn’t the desperate kind of vulnerability from the last time they’d seen each other, though it definitely looked somewhat vulnerable._

_This look was more open. There was a little bit of fear there, but most of it was a gentle softness.  
_

_”Spot..?”_

_Spot’s eyes flicked down to his lips as he leaned a little closer._

_Race’s breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away. He wasn’t totally convinced that he wasn’t dreaming right now._

_Spot leaned forward a little more, still taking it slow._

_God, how the hell was Race this lucky?_

_He inhaled sharply right as Spot’s lips touched his._

_This kiss was dramatically different from their first. It was slow and gentle, and it overwhelmed all of Race’s senses._

_It was good. Hell, it was so much better than good. Race had been kissed before, but never like this._

_Spot made a small, pained noise as one of Race’s hands brushed the bruise around his eye. His own hands were on Race’s waist._

_“I’m sorry,” Race was barely able to get out that much before Spot was closing the gap between them again, kissing him deep and slow._

_Race tried to be more careful, but it got harder to remember the longer they kept doing what they were doing._

_Spot was treating him with a tenderness like he was going to break, as if he’d been the one hurt, and Race tried to kiss him gently right back, but the other boy wouldn’t let him pull away long enough to apologize when he touched something that hurt._

_Maybe right now, it was a distraction. It was 2 teenagers figuring out the confused emotions of their first real contact with romantic feelings.  
_

_Maybe it was a distraction from something one of them would rather not think about._

_Race’s emotions were swirling faster than he could identify them, but he didn’t care. All he really wanted to think about or do right now was keep kissing Spot._

_..._

The Jacobs parents picked up Les at 8:30, Medda set up her sleeping bag in the dressing room, and the sleepover could officially start.

As with the previous years, everybody set up their sleeping bags in a circle on-stage, heads faced inward. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, being on that hard a surface, but among such close friends, who cared?

Race usually didn’t like sleepovers. They reminded him too much of dark, crowded rooms and terrified, starving kids forced behind locked doors. Hell, even sharing a room with Romeo sometimes was hard.

But sleeping on the stage... somehow, it was just better. Maybe it was the fact that theatre club was _home_ to the kids present. Maybe it was just that the entire group being together was always safe. Race didn’t know for sure, but he definitely had always felt comfortable and safe with these sleepovers.

Tonight, there was tension in the air. The same electricity Race had felt before, but a million times stronger.

It felt _right_ , somehow, but strange. He didn’t know how to explain it.

And he knew that all his friends felt it, too, with the tension in everyone’s shoulders and the way their smiles faded just a little too soon after a joke.

Something was definitely weird.

”So,” Jack said, “Truth or dare... Katherine.”

These games were always fun. They were all usually too stubborn to turn something down, and while acting games had to stay PG today, Truth or Dare and Never Have I Ever definitely did not.

Katherine smirked, ”Dare.”

“I dare you to order a pizza.”

“ _Seriously?_ ”

Crutchie busted out laughing, “I’s been playing truth or dare the wrong way.”

”Nah, I’m jokin’,” Jack said, “I dare you to hold a handstand against the wall for a full minute.”

”A full minute?” Kath asked, “I don’t think I can hold a handstand for even 30 seconds.”

”20 seconds then. Do it.”

Katherine huffed and walked over to the wall, doing a handstand and falling out of it almost immediately. She fell out of the second one, too.

”Third time’s the charm, Kath!” Race shouted, “You can do it!”

Everyone cheered Kath on as she tried again.

Jack started a countdown, and everyone joined in until Katherine managed to nail down a 20-second handstand.

”Alright...” Katherine said, smirking, “Um... truth or dare... Elmer.”

”Um...” Elmer looked nervous, “Truth.”

”Who do you have a crush on?”

Oh, that was kind of a low blow.

Sure, Race was about 90% sure it was requited, knowing them both, but Elmer didn’t know that. He was probably freaking out.

But even he was too stubborn to refuse a truth or dare question.

Elmer’s answer was too quiet to hear.

”Sorry, what was that?” Kath asked, “I’m tired of you mooning over him in PE.”

”You can chicken out if ya need to, Elmer,” Jack reminded him, all of them knowing he wouldn’t, anyway.

Elmer took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he answered, “It’s Buttons.”

Buttons’s face turned bright red, “Oh.”

Neither of them looked at the other, but Race figured they’d probably talk about it later, when they got some time alone.

”It’s your turn, Elmer,” Crutchie said gently after a full 20 seconds of silence.

”Right! Um... Race. Truth or dare?”

”Truth.”

Normally, Race would do a dare, but considering he was still a little banged up from the Delanceys, he felt the need to play it safe.

”Um...” Elmer thought about it, “Have you had your first kiss, and if so, when and who was it?”

Race grimaced, “Diggin’ out the embarrassin’ ones, now, are we?”

The only people who knew about Race’s first kiss were Albert and probably Finch.

Because it had been embarrassing. It had ended badly, and it was okay now, but for a while, it hadn’t been.

”You gonna answer the question?” Jack asked, “Don’t get me wrong—I don’t particularly wanna hear about my little brother’s first kiss—but are you chickenin’ out?”

Race sighed, “Yes, I’s had my first kiss. Halloween night, 8th grade. With Albert.”

Everyone started shouting exclamations of ‘wait, what?’ and things to the same effect. As far as most of this group knew, Race and Albert were just friends and had never even remotely considered being more.

”Is that why ya sulked pretty much all the way up to New Year’s?” Henry asked incredulously, aiming the question at Albert.

Albert shrugged, “For that story, you’ll have to wait your turn.”

”Race, ask someone!” Mike urged.

”Fine. Truth or dare, Davey.”

Race knew that it would get around to someone who would ask about his first kiss eventually, but he was feeling petty and doubted Davey would. Why not make his friends wait?

”Truth.”

”If ya had to choose one person in this room to bang, who would it be?”

Davey looked at the floor, “We really are doin’ embarrassing questions, now, aren’t we?”

”Ya can chicken out,” Race offered.

Davey shook his head, “Everyone else did theirs, no matter how embarrassin’ the answer. So, if I had to, I’d choose Jack.”

”Thanks,” Jack said, sounding nonchalant when his red face when he was feeling anything but, “It’s your turn.”

”Right. Uh... Saz. Truth or dare?”

”Dare.”

”I dare you to lick the floor.”

Sarah wrinkled her nose in disgust, but she did it.

”Romeo,” she said afterwards, “Truth or dare?”

”Dare.”

”I dare you to stage slap me.”

”Sorry, what?”

”I want to get better at stage combat. Do it. Everyone else has to say how it looks.

They’d all learned stage combat last year out of boredom, so Race knew Romeo knew how to stage slap.

When he slapped Sarah, winding up and like... legit making it look like he hit her, Race wasn’t totally sure he didn’t. Especially when Saz fell to the ground with a grunt.

”Whoa!” Katherine exclaimed, “Ro, did you actually—“

”Of course not!” Romeo was grinning, “Sarah Jacobs is just one hell of an actress!”

Sarah stood up, bowed, and went back to her sleeping bag.

”Anyway,” Romeo said as he plopped back down in his spot, “Albert, truth or dare?”

”Uh... dare.”

”Fine. Then I _dare_ you to tell us about you and Race’s kiss.”

Albert cast a glance over at Race, silently asking if it was okay to tell that story.

Race just shrugged. They wouldn’t let it go until they knew the story, anyway, and the group and a ‘no judging’ policy that had held up so far.

“Fine,” Albert said, “We ate way too much and were halfway to a food coma, alone in Race’s room, cause nobody else had got enough candy yet. We were tired and not thinking straight, so—“

Ike snorted, “Well, that much is obvious.”

”Shut up,” Albert said, “We got talkin’ ‘bout how neither of us had boyfriends, and I kind of joked it was ‘cause we weren’t good kissers.”

“So then I says we should practice on each other,” Race added, “So we did. And it wasn’t half bad, but—“

”I wasn’t someone he actually wanted to be kissin’,” Albert said calmly, “And when he first pulled away, I didn’t see the look on his face and I told him how I felt. See, I had a crush on him at the time, and things were awkward for a while when we both knew.”

”You sulked for 3 months,” Finch pointed out, “Awkward would be an understatement.”

”Nice of ya to say, babe. Anyway, happy ending, I get over Race, I get together with Finch, good story time. Spot. Truth or dare?”

”I ain’t playin’,” Spot said immediately.

”How ‘bout I just ask you a question and you can answer it or not? Okay? Okay. Do ya have a crush on anyone? You don’t have to say who it is.”

Spot glared at him for a second before saying quietly, “Yes, I have a crush. But I ain’t playin’, so leave me alone.”

Race was pretty distracted for the rest of the game.

...

_((A dream had long before the dreamer would remember having it.))_

_Things had gotten so much worse._

_They’d lost both Mike and Ike within a week of losing Hotshot and Sniper.  
_

_Two days later, Jojo went down, taking 4 German soldiers down with him._

_Tommy Boy, Scarf, and Buttons died in the next battle, and Sarah stepped on a landmine trying to get to the wounded._

_Davey was killed last night.  
_

_Les was inconsolable.  
_

_Race still didn’t know how Jack did it, putting on a brave face and comforting Les and Elmer and Katherine and everyone else like his own feelings didn’t matter._

_Race remembered complaining about Davey and Jack, how obviously in love they were. He remembered warning them to be careful, knowing what could happen if the wrong people found out. He remembered Jack regaining his trust after what went down at the rally by admitting that he scabbed on them for a chance to protect Davey._

_Hell, he remembered storming into an alley only to find Davey already there, talking to himself, reciting facts about the moon like a prayer to keep himself sane when absolutely nothing made sense. He was obviously trying not to cry, and even as he walked away to give him some privacy, Race had known_ _right then and there._

_If any of them could last forever, Race had thought it would be those two. They seemed like a love story for the ages, the kind that actually had a ‘and they get married and live happily ever after.’_

_But getting married was impossible for them, and even if it wasn’t..._

_Till death do us part did not mean that death would come when it was fair and reasonable._

_Jack had been like a big brother to Race since they were littles selling papes on cuteness, and he had never seen him this broken._

_And yet he was still smiling, still trying to comfort Les through the few tears that slipped out, keeping his arm around young man who had grown up to look so much like his older brother._

_Katherine was hugging him, too, just as a bit of moral support. But she was breaking down, too, crying as much as Les was._

_Race was crying, too. He hated that he couldn’t save face in front of Les, but he was crying, too._

_It was Davey. Davey who was the brains behind every move they made in the strike. Davey who refused to abandon them even when he didn’t have an especially personal stake in it. Davey who led them into battle long before he was a captain._

_Davey who was dead._

_He’d been a big brother to Race damn near as much as Jack was._

_He’d been a big brother to nearly everyone in the room, those that were left._

_Specs and Romeo were curled up in a corner together, shoulders shaking, only a few inches from where Albert and Finch were sitting with Elmer, Henry, and Smalls. Blink and Mush sat on the other side of that group, silent tears streaming down one’s face as the other just stared into space._

_They all looked like the teenagers they’d been a lifetime or a couple decades ago, depressed and betrayed, curled up on the floor between two bunk beds like physical reassurance could make all these feelings go away. Could make what had happened not be true._

_Race choked on a sob because this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Sniper and Mike and Ike and Jojo and Tommy Boy and Buttons were supposed to be there, feeling these feelings, too, and yes, they weren’t fun to feel, but they ended in Davey coming in, urgently grabbing Race, and forcing him to listen to what Jack had to say._

_Jack was supposed to pull him aside so it was just the two of them, trying to get a one on one conversation._

_Race was supposed to yell in his face, “You betrayed us! All of us! Goddammit, Jack, you betrayed your family! Your_ family _! You was the one who’s protected the rest of us since we was kids, or did you forget all that? Did you forget that you was the first person a lot of us ever trusted, and you broke that! You’s supposed to be the one who ever gives up! The one who stands by us no matter what! And you abandoned us! You abandoned me!”_

_That was where Race’s voice was supposed to break._

_”You’s always sayin’ how Crutchie and I are the closest thing you’s got to brothers. Well, it looks like you lost both of us in this. And losin’ Crutchie was as much my fault as it was yours, but losin’ me? That’s all on you. So what the hell could possibly be your excuse?“_

_That was when Jack would talk so softly Race could barely understand him._

_”I won’t pretend I didn’t know this would hurt you. I won’t say I didn’t betray you. I won’t blame you if ya never trust me or even never wanna see me again after this. But we need all hands on deck, and I can’t do it without you. If ya can’t trust me, trust Davey and Sarah. Trust Katherine. This is bigger than us, Race. If ya want me to go after tomorrow, I will. But we have to work together right now, ‘cause if we don’t, neither of us stand a chance.”  
_

_Race was supposed to realize he was right, but still need one clarification._

_”Why’d ya do it?”_

_”What?”_

_”I needs to know. Why’d ya bail on us? For some notion of a place you ain’t ever seen?”_

_Right there was where Jack was supposed to sigh, about to tell a heavy truth._

_”I did it for Davey.”_

_”What?”_

_”Pulitzer said he’d throw him in the Refuge. And I could handle it if he threatened the fellas, or you, or even Crutchie, cause all you’s can take a hit, but Davey? He ain’t one of us. He’s good, Race, he’s so good. He wouldn’t even soak a scab. He never fights if there’s another option. He has a light inside like nothin’ I’s seen before and the Refuge? It would destroy him. I couldn’t let that happen.”_

_That would be where Race would know for sure that this was real, this thing between Davey and Jack, even if they didn’t know it yet. That it was double-sided and strong._

_And he would go inside to pull the fellas out of their bad feelings to go to war. That was how it was supposed to go._

_He couldn’t do that now._

_He had no good news to give._

_He had nothing to give them._

_Even Spot was taking careful, measured breaths, clearly an inch away from breaking down. He and Davey had been good friends._

_Davey had come into the group late, but was still an essential part of it. If Jack was their heart, Davey was their backbone, solid and constant, always there when they needed him most._

_Not anymore._

_Les was clearly not thinking straight as he sobbed on Jack’s shoulder, only a few words understandable._

_”Why don’t you run away to Santa Fe like you always talked about?”_

_Jack took a deep breath, a few tears slipping out into Les’s hair. His shoulders were shaking, and Katherine tried to pat his back in comfort._

_”You can’t run to something that’s gone,” he said quietly, “But I plan on finding my way back to Santa Fe before all this is over.”  
_

_Les just cried harder, and Race would deny that he did, too._

_”We’s gonna beat ‘em,” Spot said, his voice sure but still shaky, “We’ll make ‘em pay, kid.”_

_Race didn’t know how they could possibly make the Germans pay without paying for it even more, themselves.  
_

_..._

They were all tired by this point, considering it was after midnight, but nobody was sleeping. The air felt too charged for that.

Race was nervous about going to sleep. For some reason, he had a feeling something would happen if he did, and he wasn’t sure it would be a good something.

Sniper and Smalls had scooted their sleeping bags back, a little out of the circle, the way they always did, and not even they were going to sleep.

Even Jack’s smile had an edge to it, like when he comforted Race after a nightmare and wouldn’t admit he’d had one, too.

They’d stopped with the games at this point, most of everyone just talking quietly in small groups or pairs.

Well, mostly it was couples talking to each other, but Davey and Sarah seemed to be having some kind of half-asleep sibling spat, and Katherine was lazily making conversation with Romeo and Specs. Race was kind of just talking _at_ Spot, like normal, just shooting the breeze about anything and everything. Spot responded occasionally, but not often.

Everyone was utterly exhausted and too afraid to do anything about it, which was inconvenient and kind of annoying.

But tonight just didn’t feel like a night for sleeping. There were too many of them in one place, all pieces to a puzzle that might actually be a bomb.

”So, we just stayin’ up all night?”

Crutchie’s question was met with silence. Nobody really _wanted_ to sleep right now, but they were all tired enough to need it.

Sure, they all probably _could_ stay up all night, but it would make tomorrow morning _real_ fun.

Ever the brave one, Jack shook his head, “Nah. We ain’t stayin’ up all night. Everybody brushed their teeth? Everybody ready for bed?”

”Yes, _dad_ ,” Smalls called, and a few people sniggered.

“Well, I’m goin’ to sleep, so keep the volume down a bit,” Jack said.

Race knew he was only doing it because he saw how tired the others were and knew none of them would be the first one to sleep.

Sure enough, as soon as Jack laid down, a few of the others started turning in.

Race yawned. He definitely couldn’t keep this up much longer.

”Hey, Spot.”

”Yeah?”

”I’m tired. Wanna go to sleep?”

Spot just shrugged, “I don’t care. Do what you want.”

He did lay down not five minutes after Race, though.

Oddly, as tired as he was, Race couldn’t fall asleep. He just stared at the ceiling, up at the catwalk and the lights they wouldn’t be using for a few more weeks.

The stage was hard under his back, but Race had never had a problem sleeping in odd places.

The others’ conversations faded before long, and it was only then that Race could close his eyes for more than a couple seconds.

There was definitely something in the air.

...

_”Hey, they’re back!” Elmer called. They all stood up, using the walls of the trench to pull themselves upright.  
_

_Spot walked in fast enough that Race didn’t get a chance to look at his face before he was standing beside him, arm around his waist, not looking him in the eye._

_Jack walked up, shoulders squared and face grim._

_He looked like he had when he came into Medda’s theatre at the rally years ago._

_That couldn’t be a good sign._

_Without meeting anyone’s eyes, Jack grabbed Les and pulled him close to his chest, rubbing his back in comfort for something he hadn’t told them yet._

_”So?” Finch asked, hopeful._

_”Nobody’s comin’,” Jack mumbled, “We’re on our own.”_

_It was like the air was sucked out of the world around them. None of them could speak._

_”There’s a window that closes in half an hour,” Jack said, “We could get out, before they surrounded us, maybe. But they’s on their way to go fight the 202nd a few miles west from here. They get there, they’ll outnumber ‘em 4 to 1. The 202nd won’t stand a chance.”_

_Everyone knew what he was thinking, but nobody said it._

_”You all can go if ya want,” he finished, “But I’m stayin’ to take out as many of those bastards as I can before they get to our allies. We have the high ground here. We can probably kill enough of ‘em to give the 202nd a fightin’ chance.”_

_Race felt Spot tighten his grip on his waist._

_”But I ain’t askin’ ya to do that. In fact, I wish like hell I could just send all you’s back to New York where nobody can hurt you, but I can’t make that choice for ya, either. If ya want to stay, you’re welcome to. If ya want to live... no one’ll blame you.”_

_With that, Jack squeezed Les one more time before releasing him, picked up his gun, and started watching for the enemy._

_Katherine squeezed Specs’s hand as Smalls tightened the bandage on his leg one more time, him biting back a cry as she did, and stood up._

_”I’m not leaving,” she said, and Race saw Jack take a deep, shaky breath.  
_

_Without a word, Elmer handed Kath a spare gun that had probably been Buttons’s. They all knew she knew how to shoot it. They’d taught her and Sarah months ago, just in case._

_As she went to stand with Jack, she offered him a hand. When he didn’t take it, she squeezed his shoulder instead._

_When no one else made a move either way, Race shrugged, stepping forward._

_”Guess I’ll see you all on the other side, wherever that may be.”_

_For the first time in a long time, Race wondered if the nuns were right, and boys who kissed other boys went to hell. He really hoped not—not that he cared so much for his own soul. He could deal with himself burning, but too many of his friends didn’t deserve that._

_Well, if they were burning, they were all burning together._

_Spot was by his side in an instant, defiant as always. Race wished he could tell him to run._

_God, he wished he could make all of them run. They were all staying, all the people Race loved who were left, and they’d all be dead within hours. He couldn’t save any of them._

_He didn’t look at Jack’s face. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle seeing his brother—blood be damned—had lost his hope. His shoulder against Race’s was as rigid and unmovable as always, but he had only stayed optimistic this long because they all needed him to be. Everything he did was for them._

_Now, he couldn’t save any of them. And as much as it hurt Race, it had to be destroying Jack even more._

_Race felt him stiffen even more, so much he was shaking a little, when Les squeezed between him and Katherine._

_Out of the corner of his eye, Romeo was helping Specs up, because there was no survival, here, but damn if they weren’t all going down fighting, anyway._

_Blink was directly on Spot’s other side, leaning ever so slightly towards Mush on his other side, who had silent tears sliding down his face._

_Smalls stood proud and tall, despite her stature, staring out at the battlefield._

_Elmer’s smile had been taken away weeks ago, but now, it looked like the little bit of light left in him had been blown out._

_Henry was cleaning his weapon, even knowing it probably wouldn’t make the slightest difference._

_”Race...”_

_Barely managing not to cry, Race turned around, leaving his gun propped against the wall of the trench, and threw his arms around his best friend._

_Albert hugged him back with just as much force. It was just like when they were kids, borderlining on breaking each other with every embrace._

_Race forced himself to let him go, giving Albert one last thump on the shoulder before gently shoving him towards Finch, who was waiting for him before he took his spot on the line._

_After what seemed like hours of silence, they all jumped with a single gunshot._

_The German soldier Jack had shot fell to the ground, clearly having been killed quickly._

_They were all staring at him, but Jack just calmly cocked his gun again and got ready to fire again._

_They had the high ground, and there was fog in the valley they were positioned halfway in._

_But as soon as he’d noticed that one soldier, Race could see the whole army, marching towards them. The guy ahead of them had just been a scout. They hadn’t noticed he was dead yet._

_“Wait ‘till they’re in range,” Jack ordered, “Don’t waste your bullets when you ain’t gonna hit anythin’.”_

_Three shots went off in rapid succession right as they got in range. Finch had always been the best shot among them, besides maybe Sniper. He didn’t miss._

_The Germans started shouting, breaking ranks as they tried to identify where the shots were coming from._

_Race wished he could smirk at how they’d dug this trench where they weren’t easily visible from below, but he was too busy shooting German soldiers._

_Then one of the soldiers pointed directly at them, yelling something, and Spot shot him, but it was too late. The Germans knew exactly where they were._

_Race knew swear words in 4 languages and still wished he could think of more creative curses._

_”It’s now or never!” Katherine yelled over the gunshots._

_”Keep shooting!” Jack snarled, “Keep shooting for Hotshot and Sniper! For Mike and Ike! For Jojo and Tommy Boy! For Buttons and Scarf and Sarah and Davey!”_

_His voice was breaking, but he didn’t break rhythm for so much as a second._

_Race had always wanted to be like Jack Kelly._

_For the first time, it fully registered how much pain that entailed, and he was happy to be himself._

_”For Bluebird,” Race said at a normal tone. The guns were so loud that he knew only Spot would hear him._

_He barely heard his response._

_”For Blue.”_

_They all kept shooting._

_Even as Specs collapsed from blood loss and Romeo sobbed, they all kept shooting.  
_

_Even as Henry took a bullet to the head and fell, they kept shooting._

_Even through tears all of them were shedding, they kept shooting._

_From some combination of rage, pain, skill, and luck, the German soldiers started retreating.  
_

_”What?” Romeo asked, “The cowards get enough?”_

_Race hated seeing that much hate in someone usually so loving._

_“This ain’t over yet,” Jack mumbled as they all lowered their guns as the soldiers got out of range, “It can’t be.”  
_

_Katherine’s head snapped up suddenly, horror clear in her face, “It isn’t.”_

_She’d spent less time on the battlefield than the rest of them and her hearing was less ruined. Smalls looked horrified, too, angry and afraid at the same time._

_It took a few more seconds before Race could hear what they were hearing, too.  
_

_A dull buzzing that was getting louder, turning into a roar._

_Les’s eyes widened, “Bombers.”_

_Jack laughed harshly, “Oh, so they can’t kill us in a fair fight, so’s they turn to their pilot friends? That’s just fuckin’ great.”_

_He was silent for a second before speaking again, softly._

_”Davey would have said this wasn’t technically a fair fight. With how we gots the high ground and a hidden trench.”_

_Race forced himself to laugh. Blink reached over to punch him in the shoulder before turning to Mush, talking in hushed tones, something only meant for the two of them._

_The engines were getting louder. Closer. It wouldn’t be long, now._

_”Who’s gonna write Crutchie?” Finch asked, as quietly as he could and still be heard, “Tell him ‘bout us?”_

_Most of them didn’t have a next of kin for the army to send something home to. Race felt a swell of panic at how without the letters they wrote personally, Crutchie might spend the rest of his life wondering what had happened to them.  
_

_Blue would never know what had happened to them, either. She was in the same boat as Crutchie._

_”I put him down as my brother on my enlistment form,” Jack responded, “They couldn’t prove he wasn’t, so... when he gets the news ‘bout me, he’ll... he’ll know I wouldn’t...”_

_He’d know Jack wouldn’t let himself go down unless every person under his protection was already pushing daisies._

_Somehow, as the jet engines got closer, death was more real._

_Race had thought he didn’t have any more hope to lose._

_He’d been wrong.  
_

_He turned to Spot, more panicked than he wanted to be._

_”We promised Blue we’d come home to her.”_

_”We promised her we’d try,” Spot corrected, “And we... goddammit, we did. We tried our hardest, but...”_

_Race knew his voice trailed off because he was trying not to cry._

_“I love you, Spot Conlon.”_

_He’d told him that so many times, so many ways, in the last couple decades, and he was never quite sure Spot believed him.  
_

_But now his hands were just as stained with blood of his kills as his lover’s were. Maybe now, he could finally make him understand why he meant what he said._

_“I love you, too, Racetrack Higgins.”_

_Ironic, how their first and last kisses were both because of violence._

_The engines were deafening, now. Too loud for Race to hear the bombers’ bay doors open, though he imagined the sound, anyway._

_Race kept his arms around Spot, but he had to take one last look around at his friends._

_Romeo was holding a barely-conscious Specs’s hand, crying bitterly while Elmer gave him the hug his partner was to weak to._

_Blink and Mush were huddled together on the ground, the latter’s back to Elmer’s and the former having a death grip on Smalls’s hand. Neither of them were willing to let their partnerless friends die alone, but both of them needed the comfort of each other all the same.  
_

_Jack and Katherine were holding onto each other like nothing else mattered anymore, holding Les between them like he was still that overconfident almost-10-year-old.  
_

_For the first time in the almost 30 years Race had known him, Jack Kelly was sobbing freely, not caring who saw him breaking down._

_Not far away, Albert was with Finch, kissing him one last time before pulling back just into a hug. He locked eyes with Race for a second, pain written in every feature of his face._

_And then there was Spot, who was still clinging to his strength, who was holding Race as tightly as he could without hurting him, who was still trying to appear unshakable even in the face of death._

_Only someone who knew him as well as Race did would see his panic. How afraid he was to die. How afraid he was to lose Race, or even any of the men and women they were surrounded by._

_Race wished they had more time. He would have had a speech for his partner. Hell, he would have had a speech for each of his friends._

_”I love you,” Race said, and he meant it for each and every one of them as the explosions started._

_..._

_Race had a vague memory of someone asking him if he wanted to try again. If he wanted another chance to try for a happy ending with his friends and his lover._

_As soon as he’d accepted, he’d become aware of the fact that it was 2003, over 80 years after his death._

_Then he’d been in his second chance._

_..._

Race woke up to a startled yelp from Jack, their ever-fearless leader clearly freaked out by something.

”Holy shit,” Tommy Boy breathed, his voice an inch away from breaking, and Race didn’t blame him.

Race remembered.

He remembered everything.

Judging by the looks on everyone’s faces, they remembered, too.

No one was moving or speaking. It felt too dangerous for that when they all remembered what had happened.

They’d been brought back now of all times because Crutchie, the only one of them to survive the war, had lived to a ripe old age and died in 2003.

He died the day before this Jack was born.

“Oh, shit,” Davey said suddenly, “I need to text Les. If he just saw what I just—“

”Dave...”

Davey froze as Jack borderline sobbed out his name.

”Oh, God, Jackie...“

It felt kind of like watching mom and dad kiss, but Race knew it was long overdue.

“I’m so sorry,” Elmer said quietly, his voice breaking, “I didn’t save you. I never even told you how I—“

“Shut up.”

Buttons pulled him into a fierce hug.

Race was still frozen as he realized Crutchie was crying.

As much as Jack always had, and Race himself had done to some extent, Crutchie had always put on a smile and an optimistic attitude for the sake of the others, no matter what was happening.

He was crying, now.

In no lifetime had Race ever seen Crutchie cry.

”I missed you all so much,” he said, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

Davey looked up from where he was trying to text Les with a heartbroken kind of expression.

Jack grabbed Crutchie with one hand, Race with the other, and pulled them close. He added Romeo to the hug as soon as the youngest brother came over, and for a short moment, Race felt safe.

”Race...”

_Oh, God._

_”Spot.”_

Jack let him pull away. Race ignored how he moved back closer to Davey, keeping Crutchie under his arm, and how Romeo made a beeline back for Specs. He ignored how all their friends were reuniting.

They hadn’t technically been apart tonight. They just remembered, now, every year spent waiting to come back and try again together.

Spot Conlon. The King of Brooklyn. Race had loved him for over a hundred years, now, and he probably would keep loving him for every year to come.

”We got a second chance,” Race whispered, “No wars this time.”

Spot’s laugh had tears in it, “You can’t promise that.”

”Let ‘em try. If they wanna start another war, no Newsie is goin’ this time.”

They had a second chance at a happy ending. Race wasn’t going to waste it dying the same way he did decades ago.

He heard Spot’s breath catch when he said the word ‘Newsie.’

That was still what they were. After over a hundred years, they were still those kids they’d been when they stood up to Pulitzer and Hearst.

Race did have to wonder if Pulitzer was back, too, considering Kath was, but that was a problem for another day.

“I was so hostile at first because I loved you,” Spot said quietly, “And I knew it, even then.”

Race didn’t ask if he meant the first time they met in this lifetime or their first. He had a feeling the answer was both.

It sure was for him. Race hadn’t been quite old enough to know what love was, the first time, but he’d known even back then, meeting that tiny Brooklyn kid, that there was something about him that meant they needed to stay in each other’s lives as long as possible.

There was something different about this lifetime Race needed to know about.

”What happened with this?” he tapped Spot’s wrist through the fabric of his hoodie.

His lover cringed, “Why did ya think I ran away from home the first time?”

”You mean—“

”Cigarettes. My mom and dad. Doesn’t matter. I ain’t ever goin’ back, now.”

Race would argue that it absolutely _did_ matter, as in this lifetime, they had 2 more years until Spot was legally allowed to fend for himself, but it probably wouldn’t be a problem. Spot’s parents had never come looking for him when he became a Newsie. If he could pack a bag and come home with Race, they probably wouldn’t look for him, now.

”Race...”

Race forced himself to focus again.

”I missed you.”

”You missed me? That’s all ya have to say when we’s been apart near a hundred years and we fuckin’ died in World War I and now everyone knows it?”

Race didn’t know why he was rambling.

”I missed you even when I didn’t know what I was missing.”

Race sighed, “I missed you, too.”

God, _‘I missed you’_ didn’t even begin to cover it.

”I’m never leavin’ you again.”

”You better not.”

Race was crying a little as Spot kissed him, gentle and slow, just like their second one on that dock decades ago.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Jack announced, his voice too choked up, “We’re safe now.”

They were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert: when they get older, Spot and Race adopt a little girl and a little boy, who might possibly go by the nicknames ‘Bluebird’ and ‘Scarf.’ :)


End file.
